Tree Houses and Daisies
by little0bird
Summary: Ron and Hermione in the weeks after they return to the Burrow.DH spoilers...
1. Daisy Chain

Hermione padded down to the kitchen barefoot, holding her sandals in one hand. She had gone upstairs to change into a skirt and was going to go for a walk with Ron. It was nearly the end of June, and the weather was starting to get warm, hence the change from her worn jeans to the skirt. Ron was waiting for her in the back garden. 'Hi,' she said breathlessly.

'Hi,' Ron replied, only a bit bashfully.

It was the first time they'd been alone, really, since the battle a month ago.

'Well, shall we?' Hermione gestured to the lane outside the garden gate.

Ron shook his head. 'There's a bunch of reporters out there,' he said mournfully. 'When we were in school, I used to envy Harry for being famous,' he admitted. 'Now, I'd give anything to be anonymous again.'

He turned to face the paddock; it was within the wards Bill and Harry had set up when the family came home. It might not be the kind of walk Ron envisioned when he proposed the walk to Hermione after lunch, but it was better than being cooped up in the house. He headed down the garden, through the heady scent of his mother's roses, past the herb garden, with the sharp scent of lavender and sage. 'Where are we going?' Hermione asked curiously.

'Bottom of the paddock. See that oak tree in the north corner?' Ron pointed to an old oak tree, with spreading branches.

'Yeah.'

'Bill and Charlie built a tree house up there when I was small. The summer after Ginny was born.'

'A tree house, Ron?' Hermione was looking at him skeptically.

'It's been spruced up over the years,' he said diffidently.

'I'm sure it's lovely.'

Fifteen minutes of meandering brought them to the oak. Ron climbed up the slats of wood nailed into the trunk, and opened the trap door that led into the house. He walked around, bouncing a bit, testing to see if it was still sound. 'It's okay, Hermione, you can come up!' Hermione's head rose through the trap door.

'Hmmm. Could use a good cleaning,' she said, and pointed her wand at the floor. '_Scourgify_,' she muttered, and the piles of dry leaves and other debris vanished.

Ron snorted. 'When you're nine, and want a place to call yours, a few leaves and some dirt don't really matter.' He conjured a blanket and settled down on it. He patted the blanked next to him, inviting Hermione to sit. She pulled off her sandals, and gracefully sat next to Ron. 'So?' Ron cleared his throat.

'So?' Hermione smiled at him.

'When do you leave for Australia?'

'Next month.'

'How are you getting there?'

'About a dozen Portkeys.' Ron's mouth dropped open. 'Here to Spain. Then to the Ivory Coast. Then Yemen, Sri Lanka, Malaysia. From there, I'll go to Perth, Australia, then to Sydney, then Canberra. The Australian Ministry should have found my parents by then, and I'll reverse the Memory spell, and we'll take an aeroplane back to London.'

'A Muggle aeroplane? How long will that take?'

'A long time. Hours.'

'How many?'

'I think almost twenty-four.'

'Merlin, that's a whole day!' Ron breathed.

'I think when I get back, I'll prefer Portkey. It wouldn't take nearly as long, but my parents will have luggage.'

'How long until you come back?' Ron asked tentatively.

'A couple of weeks. Maybe more. We'll have to close up anything they have there.' Hermione leaned against Ron. 'I'll write you while I'm gone,' she offered.

'You would be back by the time I got them,' Ron pointed out.

'You're right,' she sighed.

Ron brushed a stray curl from her face. 'How about this? Tomorrow we'll go to Diagon Alley and Flourish and Blotts, and get a couple of diaries. We'll write in them while you're gone, and when you come back, we'll trade.'

'I take it back,' Hermione said.

'Take what back?'

'You have more emotional range than a teaspoon.' Ron chuckled and drew her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss on the palm. Hermione cupped his cheek, and bit her lip, thinking.

_Oh, just stop thinking, Granger, and do it!_, she thought. Hermione pulled Ron's mouth to hers and kissed him. Ron shifted and pulled Hermione to sit on his lap, his hands tangling in her hair.

'Blimey,' he whispered when they broke apart. 'That was brilliant!' He brushed his nose across hers. 'Could we do that some more?' Hermione smiled and just kissed him in reply.

Ron felt an irrepressible urge to feel her skin, so his fingertip swept under the hem of her shirt, and traced random patterns over the skin of her lower back. She nibbled his lower lip, and moved his hand to her stomach.

Feeling rather like he was taking his life in his own hands, Ron inched the hand up as far as her ribs, and moved his mouth to the inches of collarbone exposed by the collar of her shirt. Wanting to see and feel more, Ron unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt.

He was so focused on Hermione, he hadn't felt her tug his shirt from the waistband of his jeans, and slide her hands over his stomach, her fingertips gliding uncertainly over the button of his jeans, before deciding to go back up.

After a few hours, Ron's stomach rumbled, reminding them it was almost time for dinner. Hermione giggled, and gently untangled herself from Ron. 'We must look a sight,' she said, trying to put some order back into her disordered hair.

Biting his lip, Ron looked around the tree house. He saw a leaf that had fluttered in through the window, while they had been occupied. He retrieved his wand from where it had fallen from the back pocket of his jeans. Trying to remember everything he could about Transfiguration, he turned the leaf into a ribbon that matched Hermione's shirt. 'Will this do?' he asked, holding out his palm, with the navy blue ribbon draped across it.

'I…' For once, words failed Hermione, as she nodded and slid the ribbon from Ron's hand, using it to tie her hair back.

Ron tucked his shirt back into his jeans, and watched Hermione do up the buttons he had undone, and slip her sandals back on. He held his hand out to help her to her feet. 'Your lips are swollen,' he said tracing them with a fingertip.

'So are yours,' she replied, dropping soft last kiss on him, before scurrying down the ladder.

* * *

The next time they went to the tree house, Ron found himself on his back, with his shirt off, and Hermione's lips trailing down his chest. He was more than a bit surprised. He didn't figure her for the hedonistic type. Ever. He never thought she'd wear red knickers, either, but the waistband of her jeans slipped the other night, revealing a pair of lacy red knickers. He wondered if her bra had matched, too. Ron gasped softly as Hermione found a particularly sensitive spot. She inched lower. 'Mione?'

'Hmmmm?' Ron twitched as the humming vibrated over his skin.

'What are you doing?' he gurgled.

'Counting your freckles,' she murmured into his navel, brushing her lips over the line that led to his…

'But I don't think I have any freckles there,' he wheezed. He thought his head was about to explode.

'Well, then, I'll just have to make a thorough examination, won't I?' she all but purred.

'Mione, wait!' Ron gritted his teeth. His body was begging him to let her have her way with him, and his mind… Hermione rested her chin on his chest.

'What?'

Ron was breathing heavily. 'Just… give me a minute…' He brushed some of the hair that drifted into her face away. 'Don't you think we're going a bit fast?' he asked uncertainly.

'After the last year we spent together?' Hermione gave him a level look.

'Mione, the first time I kissed you was only a month ago,' Ron pointed out. 'Remember? You were there.'

'I remember,' she said. Hermione sat up and turned her back to Ron, wrapping her arms around her knees. Ron closed his eyes. This was not how he envisioned happening. He sat up, and put his hands on either side of her hips.

'I just meant, are you sure this is what you want?' Ron said into her hair.

'Do you know how long I've been in love with you?' Hermione asked abruptly.

Startled, Ron answered, 'No.'

Hermione leaned back against him. 'Second year. Maybe even first after you bashed that mountain troll over the head.' She blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. 'I hated it when you and Harry fought, because I loved you, and he was like the brother I never had.' A tear slid down her cheek and splashed on the collar of her shirt. 'I Confunded MacLaggan in sixth year,' she confessed.

'I know.'

'I absolutely _hated _to see you with Lavender.' She said hotly. 'It made me throw up a little every time I saw the two of you.'

'I deserved those birds, too.'

'When you came back in the Forest of Dean, I wanted to snog you until your lips fell off and beat you over the head with my handbag at the same time.'

'Definitely deserved the latter.' Ron kissed her under her ear. He tilted her chin back so he could kiss her mouth. 'First year,' he muttered.

'What about it?' Hermione had turned in his arms so she faced him, her legs draped across his.

'When you told me I had a smudge on my nose.' He brushed her hair away. 'I was a fool for not asking you to the Ball fourth year. You were so… Beyond beautiful.' Ron's hands had worked their way up the tiny buttons of her shirt. Afraid to breathe, he tugged it off her shoulders. Purple bra today. He smiled and traced the line of the bra where it rested on her skin, curving over her breast. Ron's hands went to the hooks at the back, and with a silent question, he asked permission. She nodded. Ron noticed she scarcely breathed.

He managed to unhook the back, and pulled the straps from her shoulders. 'Oh,' Ron's mouth went dry. He gathered Hermione to him, and kissed her, in awe of the sensation of her skin against his.

He pushed her back so she lay on the blanket. His lips traced down her collarbone to her breast. 'Ron, what are you doing?'

'Counting your freckles,' he breathed.

'But I don't have – '

'I reckon I'll have to investigate, don't you?'

On the way back to the house, Ron stopped to gather a bouquet of daisies that grew in the paddock. He mutely held them out to her. Hermione's hand closed around the stems.

* * *

'I'm leaving in two days,' she said as the walked down to the end of the paddock. Ron shrugged. He knew it had been coming, but he didn't have to like it. 'Not talking today?' Ron shrugged again. Hermione huffed in exasperation. _Enough is enough_, she thought. She pulled her hand from Ron's and stopped in the middle of the paddock.

Ron stopped and spun around. She stood in the middle of the tall grass, surrounded by delicate white daisies, the sun shining on her hair. God, he wanted her. They had spent nearly every afternoon in the tree house, coming close to, but not running headlong over the edge. He wouldn't let them. But not today. Today, Ron threw caution to the wind, forgetting everything Molly had drummed in his head.

He pulled Hermione to him, and fell into the grass, letting her fall on top of him. He struggled to pull his shirt over his head, until she pushed his hands away and tugged the soft cotton off. He tried to be gentle, but not today. Today he was going to make sure she didn't forget him in Australia. Her fingers frantically searched for the button of his jeans, and pulled the zipper down. Ron helped her push them down to his feet, where he shoved them off. He had gone barefoot today, like he had done when he was younger. 'You have too many clothes on,' he grunted, as he drew Hermione's shirt over her head, and tossed it aside. While he focused on getting rid of the bra, she struggled to get her jeans off.

'Wait,' she panted. She sat up and yanked her sandals off, throwing them toward the tree, then kicked off the jeans. Ron's fingers hooked into her knickers and he pulled them down over her hips and legs. Hermione reached for his boxers. 'You would have Cannons boxers,' she said, grinning.

'Is now the time to comment on my choice of boxers?'

'Absolutely.' Ron shifted so Hermione straddled his hips.

'Are you sure you want to do this?' he asked.

'Yes.' Swearing under her breath, Hermione found her jeans, and pulled something out of the back pocket. 'Muggle contraceptive,' she said by way of explanation, before tearing it open and putting it on Ron.

'Yet something else Hogwarts needs to teach – a contraceptive charm,' Ron muttered, before gasping at the sensation of Hermione's hands wrapped around him.

'Ron?'

'Mione?'

'Shut up.' It was the last thing Ron heard over the pounding in his ears as Hermione began to move.

He didn't remember rolling Hermione onto her back, but there she was moaning his name, with her legs wrapped around his waist. All he saw was her face, all he felt was her body, all he heard was the sound of her voice.

Ron saw the dappled pattern of sunshine through leaves through his eyelids, and felt the sunshine hit his bare skin. He dimly thought if they didn't dress soon, there would be some rather embarrassing sunburns. He could smell the scent of crushed grass under his back, and Hermione's skin under his nose.

Unbidden, the thought popped out of his mouth, before he could stop himself. 'Why are you with me?' he mumbled.

'What kind of question is that?' Hermione jerked out of Ron's grasp and sat up, glaring at him. She pulled her knees into her chest and rested her forehead on them.

Carefully not touching her, Ron sat up. 'You could have anybody you wanted. You're smart, well, brilliant, beautiful, more loyal than I ever was, and yet you're with me, the biggest prat that every passed through Gryffindor.'

'But I don't want anyone else,' she said, muffled. Ron mentally hit himself on the head.

_Great_, he thought. _I've made her cry now_. 'Mione, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry.'

She lifted her tearstained face from her knees. 'Well, you did,' she spat. When Ron took hold of her, she only cried harder. She said something Ron couldn't quite understand.

'What was that?' he asked.

'I love you, and if you can't understand that, then maybe I shouldn't come back!'

'No, Mione, please…' Ron mentally hit himself again. He fished for his t-shirt, and used it to wipe Hermione's face. 'I'm sorry, I really am. I just don't understand why…' he trailed off, using his fingers to brush away a stray tear.

Hermione sniffed, and grabbed the shirt, and used it to swab her face and blow her nose. Ron winced, but it was his own damn fault. 'Does there have to be a reason why? There is nothing – no book I could ever read, no set of runes I could translate – that would explain why I love you, you absolutely infuriating prat!' Taking a deep breath, she held his face between her hands. 'You mean everything to me.'

Ron blinked. 'Oh.' He leaned forward to kiss her. 'When Bellatrix had you, I thought it was going to tear my heart out.' He closed his eyes, remembering her screams. 'Almost did.' Ron's hands tightened in her hair. 'Merlin help me, I love you.'

* * *

Two days later, Hermione was gone. Ron took his diary out to the tree house and climbed up the ladder. He opened the slim book, and found a daisy pressed into the pages. Hermione must have done it. He had done the same thing to hers.

He opened it to the first page, and found a note, in Hermione's tidy handwriting.

_Ron,_

_I'll be back sooner than you think._

_I promise._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

He grinned and began to write.

* * *

A/N: I loved watching Ron and Hermione's relationship develop over the books. All those little hints sprinkled through them... sigh

And I really think Ron is the only one who could get away with calling Hermione 'Mione'. Everyone else would lose a hand.


	2. Separate But Together

Ron was sitting at the table the morning after Hermione left. He hadn't been able to sleep. He tossed and turned all night, unable to get comfortable without her beside him. That first night in Grimmauld Place, he had slept on the floor next to her, holding her hand. When they started sleeping in bedrooms, she crept into the one he was using one night, and slipped into the bed next to him, claiming the house scared her. Ron hadn't said anything, but he knew why she was scared, and it wasn't that house. Truth be told, he was scared, too, and welcomed Hermione's soothing presence in the bed. He knew nobody would believe him if he said nothing happened.

And nothing had happened when she crawled into the camp bed with him in the tent. Not even that night in January, nearly a month after he came back. She claimed she was cold. It was a logical excuse. It was arse-numbingly cold.

He hadn't been able to sleep well at Shell Cottage. He had gotten used to sleeping with Hermione.

After the war, they had gone to the Burrow with the rest of the family. One night, she had slipped up into his bedroom, and slid into bed with him. She had been worried about her trip to Australia. And she couldn't sleep without him anymore.

Or so she said.

He wondered where Hermione was. If she had made it to Australia safely. She had a general idea of where her parents were, thanks to the Australian Ministry, and others had assured her the Memory charms would be easy enough to reverse without damaging her parents, but Hermione had been worried.

All those Portkeys… Ron shuddered. He hated traveling by Portkey even more than he hated Apparating. Using _one_ Portkey was enough to make him sick to his stomach.

Ron checked his watch. It was still far too early for anyone else to be up yet and Ron was getting restless. He quietly wandered to a shelf near the sink that held a row of books, all about cooking. Ron had gained a greater appreciation for cooking the last year, especially since he had tried to help Hermione while they were camping the last several weeks. And Ron figured if there was something he liked, it was food.

He knew how to do a few things, like make toast without burning it, and how to boil an egg. Fleur had taken some time to teach him a few simple things to cook by hand and by magic, like jacket potatoes and pasta. It was a lot different than toasting things on a fork at the fire in the common room at school. Ron found he rather liked cooking. And the more he did it, the more he liked it.

Running a finger down the spines of the books, Ron found one that looked interesting and pulled it off the shelf. He took it to the table and began reading, laughing to himself at what Hermione might say if she could see him voluntarily reading a book, even if it was a cookbook. He made a mental note to write about it in his diary.

* * *

Molly came down at her customary six o'clock, a long-ingrained habit from when Percy and the twins were small. It gave her a quiet half-hour to herself before she made breakfast for the horde of hungry children that would tumble into the kitchen, pajamas askew, hair flying every-which-way. She stopped short to see Ron, with his nose buried in one of her cookbooks, reaching blindly for another one, so he could compare the recipes. 'Good morning, Ron,' Molly said nonchalantly, as she reached for her apron, hanging on a hook on the kitchen door.

Ron jumped, slamming one of the books shut on the finger he was using to hold his place. 'Mum!'

'Didn't mean to startle you.' Molly measured tea leaves into a pot and filled a kettle with water and tapped it with her wand. It whistled softly and she poured the hot water over the tea, letting it steep.

'It's all right. D'you mind?' Ron indicated the books scattered over the surface of the table.

'Not at all. Sudden interest in cooking, eh?'

'Sort of,' Ron mumbled, feeling the back of his neck grow warm. 'Couldyouteachme?' he asked in a rush.

Molly paused in the act of pouring her and Ron cups of tea. 'I didn't quite get that…'

Ron took a deep breath. 'Could you teach me how? To cook, I mean.' Ron neatly Banished the books back to their shelf. 'Took trying to feed myself to realize it's a good skill to have. Wish I'd known how last year.'

Molly passed a cup of tea to Ron and gave him measuring look. He certainly wasn't the same boy who had left last summer. 'When do you want to start?'

'Today?'

Molly smiled. 'We'll start with something easy. Scones or something like that.'

Ron nodded, gently swirling his tea, watching the leaves create and recreate patterns in the amber liquid. He set the cup down, and the leaves settled into drifts in the bottom of the cup. 'Mum? Could I ask you something?' His throat tightened and he had to force the last few words out, straining to do so.

'Of course, dear.' Molly looked at her youngest son expectantly.

'When I was born…' Ron looked at his mother, the anguish he'd felt since confronting that locked breaking through to the surface. 'When I was born, were you upset I wasn't…' Ron's gaze dropped back to the leaves in the cup. He shook his head. 'Never mind, Mum.'

'Upset you weren't…' Molly's eyes narrowed. 'A girl?' she guessed. Ron nodded, his ears going red. 'Ron, where would you get that idea?'

He shrugged. 'It's nothing.'

'Ronald, it's not nothing if it bothers you.'

'It doesn't bother me,' Ron replied defensively.

Molly tipped Ron's face up, so she could meet his eyes. 'I love all of you. It didn't matter to me if you had been a boy or a girl.'

'I know, Mum.' Ron's heart twisted to see the faint distress in his mother's eyes.

'I know it was hard for you. You had so much to live up to, being the youngest boy with all the others ahead of you, sandwiched between them, and Ginny, the first female born in the Weasley family in generations.' Molly took a long sip of tea to gather the strands of thought together. 'So much could have gone wrong, Ron, without you.'

'I don't see how,' Ron said a bit mulishly. 'I'm not smart like Bill or Percy. I don't play Quidditch as well as Charlie, or do something dangerous, like work with dragons. I'm not as clever or crafty as Fred and George. And well, Ginny can do just about anything she puts her mind to.' Ron blew out a slow breath. He shook his head. 'I don't see how I kept anything from going wrong.'

'Ron,' Molly said gently. 'You befriended two children who had everything to lose in this world. Just by being friends with Hermione, you reminded her every day blood doesn't matter. What the three of you did last year, couldn't have been done by a less-confident witch or wizard.

'And Harry… You accepted him straightaway for who he is, rather than what he is. He wasn't the savior of the Wizarding world to you. He was the boy in your compartment on the train who shared what he had with you, without question. You, Ron, taught him what it was like to have people care for him. And how to care about other people in return. He would never have been able to go willingly into the Forest if he hadn't learned from you that there are people worth sacrificing for.' Molly cupped Ron's face in her hands. 'Never believe you don't matter, Ron.'

She kissed his forehead, and began to Summon the ingredients for scones. 'Now, you wanted to learn to cook.'

* * *

Hermione landed in a heap in a courtyard of the Australian Ministry. They had warned her in Sydney it was going to be much cooler in Canberra than in Sydney, but it was no different than London sometimes. A hand gripped her elbow, helping her to her feet. She smiled gratefully at the boyish-looking man who greeted her. 'Miss Granger?' he asked.

'Yes. But, please call me Hermione.'

'Hermione, then. I'm Gavin MacAllister. Minister's junior assistant. And call me Gavin. People call me Mr. MacAllister, and I start looking for my dad.' Gavin smiled widely at her, reminding Hermione rather too much of Gilderoy Lockhart.

'Nice to meet you, Gavin.' Hermione followed Gavin inside, her hackles rising slightly. Gavin seemed to be a nice man, but maybe a bit _too_ nice? She walked down a hallway, wobbling slightly. She was starting to agree with Ron where Portkeys were concerned. Ten Portkeys in one day was a bit much in hindsight, but she'd been so anxious to find her parents that she hadn't thought the plan all the way through. _A little late for that now, Granger_, she said to herself.

The Australian Ministry was a somewhat smaller than the British one, and Hermione said as much to Gavin. 'We have provincial offices, seeing as how we're more spread out here. Just the Department heads here and the staff for the ACT and Victoria.' Gavin turned around to look at Hermione. 'You look knackered,' he said, not unkindly. 'Tell you what, we'll get you checked in with the Minister, and I'll take you to the pub so you can get settled.'

Hermione stopped walking. 'Why would I want to go to a pub?' she asked in confusion. 'I'm not up for a drink or anything.'

Gavin looked at Hermione like she'd lost her mind, which Hermione was beginning to think she had. 'Oh, it's not like that,' he said. 'There is a bar on the ground floor, but there are rooms for sleeping and the like upstairs.'

'Oh. Right. Like the Leaky Cauldron.'

'The what?'

'Leaky Cauldron. It's a… Well, in London, it's a restaurant, inn, gateway to the Wizarding part of the city.'

'Just like the Phoenix here. That's where you'll stay while you're here, the Phoenix,' Gavin told Hermione. 'Come on. The sooner you meet up with Maisri, the sooner you can put your feet up with a cuppa.'

Gavin led Hermione down a passageway, with large windows overlooking a meandering river. He opened a door and ushered Hermione inside. 'Have a seat,' he told her, gesturing to a cushioned wing chair. 'Maisri will be right with you.' Hermione sank into the proffered chair with an audible sigh. It had been a long day, even with the Portkeys. Leaving London late at night, so she would arrive in Australia during the day, the Portkeys in strange locales. It was now four in the afternoon in Canberra. Hermione leaned her head back, and mentally counted backward. It was only five in the morning at the Burrow. She hoped Ron had been able to go to sleep. He had wanted to go to London with her, but she refused. It was easier this way, to start off alone.

'Miss Granger?' A small brunette woman glided into the room.

'Hermione,' Hermione replied automatically, standing up to greet the woman.

'Maisri Richardson.' The Minister held out her hand. Hermione shook it, wryly noticing her own hand trembled slightly. 'Please, Hermione, sit back down.' Maisri waved her wand languidly at a low table and a tea tray appeared. Maisri poured a cup of tea, and handed it to Hermione. 'So, Hermione. I've quite the letter about you from Shacklebolt.'

'Oh?'

'He says you performed a Memory charm on your parents. Modified their memories, gave them new identities. Rather advanced magic, that.' Maisri gazed at Hermione for a few moments. 'Do you mind me asking how old you are?'

'Eighteen. I'll be nineteen in September,' Hermione answered wariness coloring her voice. 'Why?'

'Just wondering. You're so awfully young.' Maisri sipped her tea. 'We heard about what you did in England. You, and your friends. Breaking into Gringott's, Voldemort. How did you do it?'

Hermione shrugged. 'We did it because we had to. I don't mean to be rude, Minister, but it's not something I like to talk about.' Hermione set her tea down, and clasped her hands in her lap. 'My parents?' she asked pointedly.

'They're in Adelaide. You gave them the names of –' Maisri consulted a scrap of parchment. 'Monica and Wendell Wilkins. Is that right?'

'Yes.' Hermione rubbed her eyes. They were gritty from lack of sleep.

'And their real names? So we can make the arrangements for the three of you to go back to London.'

'Richard and Jane Granger.' Hermione opened her battered, beaded handbag, and reached inside. 'I brought their passports.' She clutched them in one hand.

'We'll hold them here, if you like.' Maisri held out a hand.

Hermione cast a suspicious glance at the outstretched hand. 'I'm sorry, Minister, but after the last few years I've had…' She stowed the passports back inside the bag. 'I really am sorry. I don't want to seem rude; I mean my mother would be mortified right now at my behavior, but…'

'You have no good reason to trust any Ministry official, no matter their nationality right now,' Maisri said shrewdly. 'Shacklebolt said something about how the previous two British Ministers treated you and your friends. Can't say I blame you.' Maisri gave the handbag an approving glance. 'Lovely charm work on the handbag, too.'

'Thanks.' Hermione smiled tiredly.

'Do you want to go to Adelaide tomorrow, or take a few days to recover from your journey?

'Tomorrow, please. I want to go back to London as soon as we can.'

'I'll go fetch Gavin, and he'll take you over to the Phoenix. It's close by. Get some sleep, and come back around ten tomorrow morning. We'll have transportation to Adelaide ready for you.' Maisri left the room. She stopped outside the open door, and surreptitiously peered back at the young witch slumped in the chair.

Maisri knew them all – Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. All three of them barely of age. Teenagers who had dared to do the one thing many adults had not. There had been an influx of Muggle-born and half-blood refugees last winter from Britian. They had all brought horror stories of what was going on. They hungrily gobbled any news from Britian about Harry Potter. Or rather, the lack of news, saying if he had been captured or killed, it would be all over the Wizarding news. Maisri felt more than a little awed by this young woman who could perform such advanced magic at such a young age.

Maisri quickly went back into her office. 'Gavin,' she said softly. He looked up from his paperwork. 'Please escort Miss Granger to the Phoenix.' Gavin nodded and headed for the door. 'Oh, Gavin?' He stopped and looked at Maisri over his shoulder. 'I'd leave her be, if I were you.' Maisri knew Gavin all too well. He liked the ladies, and Hermione Granger was just his type. She added, 'She's likely to hex your balls off if you try anything, ah,_unwelcome_, shall we say? And she's so good you'd probably not know anything was different until she'd Disapparated halfway to Tasmania.'

Maisri knew she had been unforgivably blunt, but Gavin had a tendency to hit on the wrong women sometimes. Gavin gulped and meekly went to collect Hermione, who was busily stuffing an Extendable Ear into her handbag.

'Erm? Miss, uh, Hermione?' Gavin was few shades paler under his tan.

'Yes, Gavin?' Hermione smiled politely.

'If you'll follow me, I'll take you to the Phoenix.' Gavin ducked out of the room, and was hurrying down the hall before Hermione could rise from her seat.

* * *

Hermione sank into a hot bath, wincing slightly as she came in contact with the water. She relaxed against the back of the tub, smirking at the look on Gavin's face when he had come to bring her over to the Phoenix. She thought it was a good thing, then, that Ron hadn't come with her. He'd have likely punched Gavin in the nose for even looking at Hermione twice. Not that Gavin would have necessarily deserved it, but Hermione didn't think she'd have minded.

She missed Ron.

After nearly a year of sleeping either close to each other, or wedged in the same bed, Hermione wondered how she was going to be able to fall asleep without his arm wrapped around her. Or how quiet it was going to be without the snoring. She smiled. It wasn't that bad, really. Just when he fell asleep. And it wasn't nearly as loud as the racket she knew her father was capable of making.

She wondered what Ron was doing. _Or rather_ _what he was eating_, she thought. It was breakfast time in Devon, after all. She wondered if she could somehow get a message to the Weasleys that she had arrived safely. Molly and Arthur would certainly be worried.

Hermione began to droop with weariness. She had been up for more than twenty-four hours now. She unplugged the stopper with her toes, and haphazardly dried herself. She pulled on the pajamas she had left lying on the bed. Her handbag lay open on a dresser. A bit of bright orange cloth poked through the opening.

Hermione tugged the material, and a large Chudley Cannons t-shirt fell out of the handbag. Fingering a grass stain, she lifted it to her nose, inhaling the scent of Ron from the other day in the paddock, blushing slightly.

Closing her eyes, Hermione could see Ron stretched out among the grass, daisies waving gaily in the summer sunshine. She had pressed one in his diary before she left.

Hermione pulled the t-shirt over her head. It looked as if Ron would be sleeping with her tonight, after all.

She delved back into the handbag and pulled her diary out. The trip today was worth a diary entry.

She unwound the thin strap that held the diary closed, and opened the book. A pressed daisy lay nestled between the first two pages. Ron's untidy scrawl skipped across one of the pages.

­_Mione,_

_I'll be waiting for you._

_Love,_

_Ronald_


	3. Wordless, Speechless Fog

Hermione woke up and groaned. She felt like she'd been hit with that spell Dolohov liked to use. All those Portkeys… Hermione picked up her watch and squinted at the face. There were still a couple of hours before she needed to get to the Ministry.

Hermione stretched, feeling several joints pop. She pushed the bedclothes back and shuffled to the bathroom. Today was the day. She was going to find her parents and restore their memories. She was feeling terribly anxious. Her mother had enough issues with the Wizarding world, and would not appreciate having her memory modified like it had been. Sure, she would understand, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

Hermione spit a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. She wondered what her parents would say when she told them she was the one who had modified their memories. 'Snap out of it, Granger,' she told her reflection. 'One thing at a time.'

She dressed and went down to the ground floor, wondering where she could get some breakfast. Gavin had said something when he brought her over last night, but she'd been so tired, she hadn't heard a thing.

'Hallo, there.' Hermione's head jerked up. A lady behind a counter beckoned to her. 'Hungry, are yeh?'

'A bit,' Hermione admitted.

'Have a seat, then, and I'll get yeh sorted. What would yeh like?'

'Um, just some tea and toast, if it's not too much trouble?' Hermione watched as the lady bustled behind the counter, toasting bread and putting brewing a small pot of tea.

'Yeh're that Granger girl, aren't yeh? The one with Harry Potter?'

'Yes,' Hermione said. It was too much trouble to try to deny it.

'Here for a holiday, then, are yeh?'

'Something like that.'

'Strange time of year for it, if yeh don't mind me sayin' so.' Hermione just shrugged. The lady set a plate of toast, the pot of tea, and a mug in front of Hermione. 'If yeh need anythin', just let me know, eh?'

'Thank you.'

Breakfast eaten, Hermione went to the Ministry. It was a bit before ten, but Hermione had nothing else to do. She had tried reading, but she kept fidgeting so much, she ended up reading the same sentence four times. She walked down the bright corridor coming to a stop at Gavin's desk. 'Morning, Gavin,' she said.

Gavin looked up, keeping an eye on the wand that peeped from the pocket of Hermione's trousers. 'Morning, Miss Granger.'

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the use of 'Miss Granger', but didn't remark on it. 'Gavin, could I ask you something?'

'Sure.'

'Is there a way I can get a message back to England immediately? Let my friends there know I've arrived in one piece?'

'Sure. Well, it won't be immediate, but it'll get there sooner than an owl would. It'll take several hours.'

'That's fine,' Hermione said quickly. 'May I use some parchment and a quill?' Gavin handed her a sheet of parchment and a quill, and directed Hermione to a small writing desk in the corner. She scribbled a quick note to the Weasleys and Harry, telling them she had arrived in Canberra, and was leaving for Adelaide this morning. She addressed to Ron, rolled it into a scroll, and tapped it with her wand. Now, it would open for nobody, except Ron. She stood and handed it to Gavin.

Gavin took the scroll to a small urn on a shelf. 'It'll go to the British Ministry first. I'll add a note asking Mr. Shacklebolt to direct to…?'

'The Weasleys. Specifically Ron Weasley.'

'Friend of yours?'

'You could say that,' Hermione replied with a slight blush. She watched as Gavin attached the note to Shacklebolt and dropped the scroll into the urn. 'How does that work?' she asked.

'Like a Portkey. It's a way for the Ministers to get in touch with each other quickly. But I don't think they would mind for this.'

'Hermione, are you ready to go to Adelaide?' Maisri appeared in the doorway between her office and Gavin's.

'Oh, yes.'

'Follow me, please.' Maisri led Hermione to a bank of fireplaces. 'I'm assuming you've used a Floo before?'

'I have.'

'Just say "Adelaide" when you go in. They're waiting for you there. The Head of the Adelaide office is a bloke named Paul Rogers. They want to meet with you and come up with a plan to get you into your parents' home so you can undo the Memory charm.' Hermione nodded, her eyes intent on the flames in front of her. 'Good luck, Hermione,' Maisri added.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione threw the handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and said firmly, 'Adelaide!'

The familiar whirling sensation gripped her and in a moment, she stumbled onto a hearth in another room. An older man stood in front of her. 'Hermione Granger?' he asked.

'Yes.'

'Paul Rogers, but you can just call me Paul.' He led Hermione to a room with two other wizards sitting at a table. 'Stu Mason and Atticus MacNeill, this is Hermione Granger.' Both men sat up in surprise. They had heard what Hermione Granger had done to her parents, and they weren't expecting a petite eighteen-year old witch.

'Good morning,' Hermione said, sitting in a chair Paul pulled out for her.

'So, Miss Granger, we thought it would be easiest to go to your parents' house on some pretense, and Stun them, and then you can reverse the Memory charm. What happens after that, is up to you.'

'Stun them?' Hermione was stunned.

'It's safer for all of you. You can modify their memory while they're out.' Paul paused, and eyed Hermione appraisingly. 'How are your nonverbal spells?'

Scowling, Hermione took out her wand, and pointed it at her handbag. She Banished it to the other side of the room, then Summoned it back to her – all without saying a word. She tucked her wand back into her pocket, and looked at Paul. 'That answer your question?'

'Yes, I'd say it did.'

'All right, fine. How are you planning on getting inside the house?'

Stu leaned forward. 'We're going to sabotage it,' he said simply.

'S-s-s-sabotage?' Hermione squeaked.

'Just something like making their telephone go on the blink or their lights. Nothing that will harm them,' assured Atticus. 'That way we can go inside the house, and Stun them, out of sight from the rest of the neighborhood.'

Hermione sighed. This was starting to turn into a production. 'How long will that take?'

'A few days, give or take a day,' said Stu, shrugging.

'A few days,' repeated Hermione. 'When are you going to get started?'

'This afternoon,' responded Paul.

'What do I do while you're sabotaging my parents' home?'

'Stick around here. We'll need to be able to get you to your parents as soon as possible. You're part of the story to get in, you know.'

'Lovely,' grumbled Hermione. She hoped she could just be part of the background. She was a lousy actress most of the time.

At least she had something to read.

* * *

Two days later, Hermione found herself wearing the uniform of the phone company maintenance worker, standing in front of a neat bungalow. There were roses in the front. Hermione smiled a little. Her father loved roses and had grown antique roses in the back garden of the house in Oxford. It seemed some things were impervious to Memory charms. 

Atticus rang the doorbell. 'Remember,' he whispered, 'you're a trainee.'

Hermione nodded mutely. She could see the outline of a woman coming to the door. Jane Granger's gait hadn't changed with the Memory charm either. The door opened and her mother stood in the doorway. 'Yes?'

'Good afternoon, missus. Here to repair your phone,' said Atticus.

'Oh, wonderful! It's been out for two days now.' Jane beamed and stood aside to admit Atticus and Hermione. Jane closed the door, and led Hermione and Atticus to the kitchen, where Richard Granger sat with the morning paper.' Atticus caught Hermione's eye, and nodded.

Within seconds, both of her parents slumped across the kitchen table, unconscious.

Hermione took a deep breath. She was trembling so hard, she could feel the fabric of the trousers she wore shaking. Atticus touched her shoulder. 'Are you all right?'

'I'm fine,' she said automatically. She gripped her wand and performed the charm to return her parents' memories.

'Do you want me to stay until after they've been revived or shall I go?'

'Go ahead and go. I'll be round in a day or two to make arrangements for us to get back to Canberra.'

'Are you sure?' Atticus looked at the resolute young woman in front of him. She hardly looked older than his own daughter.

'I'm sure. Go on.' Hermione stared hungrily at her parents. She didn't realize how much she had missed them until now.

Atticus nodded. 'If you need anything, Miss Granger, you know where to find us.'

'Thank you, Mr. MacNeill.'

Atticus turned and left the house. Hermione waited until she heard the soft_click_ of the front door closing, before she raised her wand again. '_Ennervate_,' she murmured.

Jane sat up, rubbing her forehead. 'Richard, I just had the strangest dream…'

'Mum?' Hermione whispered, frozen to the spot.

'Hermione?' Jane looked up. Her expression changed to one of open confusion as she took in the unfamiliar kitchen. 'Hermione, where are we?'

'It's a long story, Mum.'

* * *

Ron escaped to the tree house with his diary. Everyone was so busy tiptoeing around everyone else, it was giving him a headache. The only time he felt free to speak was when Molly gave him cooking lessons. He surprised both of them. He was actually good at it. He felt unusually pleased about it, too. This was something he could do, and do it well. He wrote about it in his diary, thinking Hermione might like to read about it. 

Ron stuffed the diary into his back pocket, and climbed up the ladder. He pulled himself through the trapdoor and settled on one of the cushions that had shown up in the last several days. Bored one day and tired of ending up with an aching bum from sitting on bare wood, Ron had purloined a few elderly sofa doilies from the attic and used them to practice Transfiguration. The next day, he ruefully realized he could have just done a Cushioning charm and been done with it, but he liked having the cushions around.

Ron slipped the thin loop from the small button that held the diary closed. He pulled the box with a few quills and a bottle of ink a little closer and opened the diary to where a slip of parchment marked his place. It was the note they'd received from Hermione last week via the Ministry letting them know she had arrived in Australia safely and was headed to Adelaide, where her parents were living.

The quill rested loosely in his hand. Ron was still trying to gather his thoughts. Sleep had been hard to come by the past few nights. Harry's nightmares were getting worse, when he slept at all. Harry had put Silencing and Impenetrable charms on Bill's old bedroom after the first few nights when everyone burst into the room. Ron was probably even more worried about Harry than he'd ever been before. Harry had always been willing to talk about what was eating him, but since the battle, he'd withdrawn so far into himself, Ron wasn't sure what it would take to bring him out.

Ron knew what was bothering Harry, of course. It was the guilt. Every time someone had been injured or died since their fourth year, Harry descended into spasms of guilt. But this was worse than anything Ron had ever seen. Harry wasn't eating much, and sleeping less. He stayed in Bill's room when he wasn't pushing food around his plate at meals, when he bothered to come down for them at all.

Rustling sounds reached Ron's ears. He glanced out the window to see Harry striding down the paddock, Ginny close behind. Ginny was shouting something, but it was too indistinct for Ron to make out what she said. Whatever the last thing she said was, it was enough to make Harry come to a dead stop just beyond the oak tree. Ron eased back a bit, so they wouldn't see him, but he could still see and hear Ginny and Harry. 'What do you want, Ginny?' Harry yelled at her.

'You left me. For nearly a year with nothing.'

'For God's sake, Ginny, it wouldn't have been safe for you. You were underage. And even if you had come with us, you still had the Trace on you.'

'So I was nothing more than a liability for you?'

Ron cringed. That sounded like something he would say.

'No! Of course not! But if anything had happened to you, I would have died!' Harry had moved a few steps closer to Ginny, so they were mere inches from each other.

'That's just lovely,' spat Ginny. 'That really helps after those nights lying awake wondering if you had died, trying to find a Potterwatch broadcast on the wireless. All those times the Carrows let the Slytherins practice the Cruciatus on us for detentions.' Suddenly, Ginny's hand flashed across Harry's face with an almighty _crack_. Ron tensed, his wand in his hand, ready to throw up the biggest Shield charm he could do between them.

Harry just stood there. He hadn't tried to defend himself. Ron saw a bright red handprint blossom on Harry's check.

'That was for leaving me last summer.' Ginny's hand flew across Harry's face again. 'That's for not standing up for me in the Room of Requirement!' Ron's mouth dropped open. He knew Ginny had a temper, but this wasn't something he had seen before. Ginny's handprints fanned across Harry's thin cheeks. 'That's for making me think you were dead!' Ginny was screaming and crying in earnest now, the third slap landing harder than the first one, and a fourth one following swiftly after.

'What was the last one for?' Harry asked hoarsely.

Ginny just shook her head, and took off running for the River Otter. Harry watched her mutely, and turned in the opposite direction, his face now a collection of angry mottled handprints. Ron sagged against the wall, carefully setting his wand down. His hands were shaking. Ron closed the diary. He didn't think he would be able to write anything without it degenerating into something less than his usual scrawl.

Dinner that night was tense. Harry had slipped into the house through the front door earlier, and gone into Bill's room, closing the door quietly, as if it would shatter. He hadn't come down for dinner. Ginny picked at her dinner, her eyes still swollen. Ron felt another part of his heart rip. As much grief as he gave Ginny for dating anybody, he had been hoping for years to see Ginny with Harry.

George cleared his throat, with a sound like cloth ripping. 'I'm going to reopen the shop at the beginning of August,' he announced.

'Would you like some help?' The words tumbled from Ron's mouth before he could stop them.

George looked surprised. 'Yeah. I'd love some.' He shoved a bit of chicken around his plate with his fork. 'Next Monday, I thought I'd go see what we have to do in the way of merchandise and cleaning up the shop. Haven't been there since the end of March.' George turned to Ron. 'Nine too early for you Monday morning?'

'No, it's fine.' Ron carried his plate to the sink, and began to wash the dishes stacked on the counter. He didn't notice Arthur, Molly, or Ginny leave, nor did he realize George was standing next to him, drying the dishes he'd washed.

'So, I've been thinking,' George began. 'I don't want to run the shop on my own.'

'Okay. I'm sure Lee would like to go in with you.'

'Nah. Lee's too busy with his new show on the wireless.'

Ron wracked his brain, trying to find someone to help out George.

'I was thinking about you,' George said quietly.

Ron dropped the plate he had been washing. It shattered as soon as it hit the floor. Cursing to himself, he pulled out his wand, and murmured, _'Reparo.'_ He shoved his wand back into his pocket, and bent to pick up the repaired plate. 'Why me?'

George smiled sadly. 'Fred and I wanted to bring you in, eventually. If you weren't dead set on becoming an Auror, that is.'

Ron shook his head. 'No. I've had enough of that. Been doing that since I was eleven. Not nearly as cool as it sounds most of the time.'

'You really came through this past year, Ron,' George said quietly.

'Thanks, George.' Ron swiped his hand over his face. He let the plate in his hands slide into the soapy water. Ron pulled George into a tight hug. 'I'm so sorry,' he whispered. 'I never wanted it to be like this.'

'Me, either, bro,' George choked. 'But Fred would have wanted things to go on. He'd think we were all right prats for wallowing like this.' After another moment, George released Ron with a sigh. 'So, how 'bout we try things out for a year and see how it goes?'

'Sounds good.' Ron smiled. 'Hermione's going to be pleased.'

George reached for a plate. 'Really?'

'She'll be happy I'm doing something, period.'

'So what happened between the Moping Duo this afternoon?'

'Harry and Gin?'

'Who else?'

'Dunno.'

'Liar.'

Ron pulled the plug from the drain, and rinsed the dishcloth he'd been using, draping it over the sink. 'I'm not sure. They yelled at each other. She slapped him a few times, and that was it.'

'Ginny slapped him?' George rubbed the side of his head. 'That's not like her. She usually goes for the subtle punishment.'

'Yeah.'

'George grunted in response. 'You want to go out for a bit?'

'Hog's Head,' Ron answered promptly.

'Read my mind,' George sighed. 'The others will be a bit…'

'Crowded.'

'Exactly.' George draped his dishtowel over a rod near the stove to dry and went to the back door.

* * *

_Ron could hear Hermione screaming. Bellatrix's voice punctuated the screams. He tried to pound the dungeon walls in frustration, but his fists just sank into the fog that surrounded him. Ron spun around looking for Harry, but he was alone. The screams grew louder and more pained._

_After a while, they petered out to weak whimpers, then…_

_Nothing._

'Ron! Wake up!' Harry shook Ron hard, dodging Ron's flailing arms.

'Whaaaa?'

'Here._Aguamenti_.' Harry handed Ron a glass of water.

Ron jabbed his wand at the oil lamp on his night table, flooding the room with a steady glow. He took the glass from Harry's outstretched hand. 'Did I wake anyone else?'

'No. You weren't screaming. Just lots of thrashing. I wasn't asleep anyway.'

Ron squinted at Harry's face. The handprints had faded into a couple of light bruises across his cheekbones, and they were slightly swollen. 'You should let Mum do something with those,' he said gesturing toward Harry's face.

'Nah. They're all right. I kind of deserved it.' Harry touched one of the bruises, and winced a bit. 'I don't think I'm ever going to underestimate your sister again, though.'

'She's hurting.'

'Thanks for the newsflash, Captain Obvious.'

'Not just about Fred, git. Or Remus and Tonks. Or Colin. She thinks you're going to leave her behind again.'

'Why?'

Ron huffed, not realizing how much like Hermione he sounded. 'Do you realize this is the most you've talked to _anybody_ since we came home? You've been avoiding all of us like you're the carrier of some sort of plague. Especially Ginny. She probably thinks you don't want to be around her anymore.'

'But that's not true…' Harry protested weakly.

'When was the last time you said anything to Ginny? Fred's funeral?'

Harry shrugged. 'Guess I didn't realize how much time had gone by.'

'Your birthday is in a week.'

'Oh.'

'It's not your fault, you know.'

'Sirius was.'

'No, he wasn't. You had no idea until we got there.'

'If I hadn't –'

'If you hadn't rushed headlong into London, if I hadn't left you last winter, if we hadn't gotten picked up by Snatchers… We could make a list of things we could have done differently, mate. But it's done, now.' Ron refilled the glass of water, and handed it back to Harry. 'Drink that.' Ron watched Harry, rather like Molly, until Harry took several gulps from the glass. 'I reckon she shouldn't have slapped you, mate, and she should apologize.' Harry looked at Ron, eyebrow raised in question. 'I was in the tree house. I saw the whole thing.'

Harry set the glass on the night table, and rubbed his eyes. 'You going to be all right?'

'Yeah. You need to get some sleep, Harry. You look like hell.'

'I feel like hell.'

'Stop blaming yourself, then. Fred knew what he was doing. So did Remus and Tonks. And Colin was told to leave, and he _chose_ to stay. They all made their own decisions for their own reasons, and it wasn't solely to save your scrawny arse. Not a single person in this family blames you or holds you responsible. Except you, that is.' Ron settled back into bed. 'I saw Ginny at dinner, by the way. She looked about as good as you do right now.'

'That doesn't make me feel better, mate.'

'I'm sure it doesn't. But I reckon she feels pretty bad about it.' Ron closed his eyes. 'For Merlin's sake, will you please go _talk_ to Ginny tomorrow? All the drama's giving me a headache.'

'Sure, Ron. Anything to make you feel better,' Harry retorted.

'I'm going to hate myself for saying this, but the tree house in that oak tree's a good place to talk. Far enough from the house to be alone.'

Harry gazed at Ron for a moment. 'And you know this how?'

'It's where Hermione and I went to go talk until she left.' Ron felt the prickle of flush creep up his neck to his face.

Harry noticed the flush and arched an eyebrow. 'Talk?'

'Yeah. Talk,' muttered Ron.

Harry closed his eyes. 'Please tell me you and Hermione didn't…' he trailed off.

'Er… Not in the tree house, anyway.' Ron squirmed uncomfortably.

Harry stared at Ron in shock. 'I'm going to go Scourgify my brain now.' He paused, and knowing he shouldn't, but unable to help himself, asked, 'What was it like?' Harry added hastily, 'No details, though.'

Ron stared at the ceiling, images of that afternoon flashing through his brain, as he struggled to come up with a way to describe it. 'I'm never going to have a problem performing the Patronus charm again,' he said quietly.

'Oh…'

'Yeah.'

Harry pulled himself to his feet. 'G'night, then.'

'G'night, Harry.' Ron got out of bed and picked up his diary.

* * *

A/N: One of my favorite books is To Kill a Mockingbird... :) 

And no, Ginny is not the abusive type. She's just not herself right now, what with everything that's been going on.

And in the name of full disclosure, I did get sniffly when I wrote the scene between George and Ron.


	4. Absolution

Ron stood outside the bathroom door. Whoever was inside was taking forever. It wasn't George, he was up and dressed. It wasn't Ginny, either, she didn't usually take a long time in the bathroom, and lately, she'd dashed in and out, barely stopping to comb her hair. Molly and Arthur were both downstairs. Ron sighed and shifted his weight, making the landing creak. The door opened, and Harry stood in the doorway, clad in a pair of clean boxers, surrounded by a billowing cloud of steam.

Ron eyed Harry critically. Harry had never been large, and was usually thin to begin with, but he was nearly skin and bones. 'What?' asked Harry exasperatedly.

'You need to eat, mate. I can count your ribs,' Ron told him, the need to use the loo forgotten.

'You could always count my ribs,' said Harry dryly.

'Not like this,' Ron said soberly.

'I'm fine, Ron. Just haven't been hungry lately.'

'You should try coming down for meals more often.'

Harry ran a hand through his damp hair, making it stick up in clumps around his head. 'I don't know. I mean Ginny…' he gestured vaguely.

'Well, this will be a perfect time for you to get her to talk to you, won't it?' asked Ron crisply. 'Or at least ask her to meet you later. Out of the house.'

Harry just stood there, rubbing the back of his neck. 'I'll think about it,' he said quietly.

'Don't think too much. My scones are best when they're fresh.'

'You make scones?' Harry gaped at Ron. 'Since when do you make scones?'

'Since last week,' Ron said, shrugging. 'It's not a big deal, you know.'

'I might have to see this to believe it.' Harry let a small, fleeting grin skip across his face.

Ron let out a bark of laughter, and good-naturedly shoved Harry aside. 'Move it, will you? Some of us need to get in there.'

'Oh! Right.' Harry came all the way into the landing. He stood for a moment, staring at his bare toes before meeting Ron's eyes. 'I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't…' He lifted a shoulder helplessly. 'I wish things had turned out differently. I know it doesn't make anything better.'

'So do we. But like I told you last night, it's not your fault. And I'm going to repeat it until you believe me, you daft git.' Ron moved into the bathroom. Before closing the door he said, 'You might want to get dressed before Mum sees you like that. She's liable to tie you to a chair and feed you until you look like your cousin.'

Harry snorted, and went down the stairs to Bill's old room. Shaking his head, Ron closed the bathroom door. He hoped Harry would begin to believe it soon.

Ron met Harry on the first landing, standing at the top of the stairs uncertainly. 'Harry, what are you doing?'

'Trying to make up my mind to go downstairs.' Ron huffed impatiently and took Harry's elbow and dragged him down to the kitchen. As he propelled Harry down the stairs, Harry commented, 'Do you realize you just sounded like Hermione?'

'I did not!' Ron said scandalized. The two of them pushed through the kitchen door, and the chatter that had flitted around the table stopped into silence, as Harry came through the door.

'Harry!' Molly exclaimed. Ron, correctly thinking Molly was about to make a fuss, quickly shook his head behind Harry. Molly took in a quick breath, and pointed her wand at a cupboard. A plate flew toward the table and settled at the empty chair between George and Ginny. 'Sit down, dear.'

Ron heard Harry's soft gasp. Scanning the table, he saw it was the only empty seat left. 'That's what you get for dawdling,' he informed Harry smugly, so low Harry was the only one who heard it.

Harry gingerly sat in the chair, and reached for a scone from the basket in the middle of the table. He looked at Ginny from the corner of his eye. She was studying the contents of her plate intently, determined not to meet Harry's eye. Molly saw the by-play as she shoveled eggs and bacon onto Harry's plate. She met George's eye and rolled her eyes.

Harry methodically cleaned his plate, and didn't protest when Molly piled more food on it. He and Ginny kept giving each other sidelong glances when they thought the other wasn't looking.

It was enough to make Ron gag.

Ginny tried to leave the table, but Harry's hand closed around her wrist. She looked down at him, a slight frown on her face. Harry looked at her full in the face, and gave his head a slight jerk toward the back door. Ginny nodded, and Harry rose from his seat, and he and Ginny silently left the kitchen.

Molly, George, and Ron all exchanged glances. 'It's about bloody time!' exclaimed Molly.

'Mum!' admonished George. 'Language!'

'Like you weren't thinking the same thing,' sniffed Molly.

Ron looked out the window, and saw Ginny's bright head bob next to Harry's dark one, as they trudged down to the far end of the paddock. He was ready to strangle both of them for being as thick as he was normally accused of being. 'Mum?'

'Hmmm?' Molly was absently flicking her wand at the breakfast dishes, able to put only a fraction of her mind on it out of long habit.

'Could you and Dad talk to Harry? Try to convince him it wasn't his fault?'

'We've tried, but he always darts back into Bill's room.'

'He needs it, Mum. And from you, George,' Ron added turning to George, who was polishing off the last scone. 'He won't forgive himself until you forgive him.'

'There's nothing to forgive, Ron,' stated George flatly.

'_I_ know that, but he needs to hear it.'

Ron turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Ginny came back into the house before lunch, slightly pale, but starting to shed some of the haunted look she'd carried for the past few weeks. Harry trailed after her a few minutes later. Ron looked up from the plate of chicken sandwiches he was making, and held one out to Harry. 'How'd it go?'

'All right.' Harry shrugged.

'Just all right?'

'You want details?' Harry asked Ron, who nodded. Harry held up the sandwich in his hand. 'After lunch, eh?'

* * *

_Harry and Ginny walked slowly down the garden and into the paddock, carefully avoiding each other's gaze. Neither of them spoke until they reached the oak tree. As the came to a stop at the base of the tree, Ginny looked up at Harry, biting her lip in obvious distress. She delicately traced one of the fading bruises on Harry's cheekbone. 'I'm so sorry,' she whispered. 'I shouldn't have…' Ginny drew in a deep breath. 'Slapped you,' she finished._

_Harry shrugged. 'Maybe it was just what I needed. To get through the fog, I suppose.' Harry wrinkled his nose. 'Just don't do that again, all right? You have a very good right arm on you,' he said, allowing a faint ghost of a smile to flit across his face._

_One of Harry's hands slowly rose and his fingers slid through the dark red strands that lay over Ginny's shoulder. 'Gin? I'm sorry… About Fred. It was not something I wanted to happen. It was like losing my own brother,' he said hoarsely._

'_Fred knew what he was getting into,' Ginny said softly. 'We all did. Doesn't make it hurt less, but it wasn't pointless, and Fred would kick your arse halfway to London if he knew you were wallowing,' Ginny pointed out._

_Harry's hand had been sliding through Ginny's hair suddenly stilled. 'Any death is pointless when it's like that,' he countered._

'_Maybe. But you can wallow in the grief and let it swallow you, or you can remember the person as they lived. And you can make damn sure they're never forgotten,' she replied firmly._

_Harry shrugged again, and gestured to the ladder. 'After you.'_

_Ginny climbed the ladder, and her eyes widened at the signs of habitation in the tree house. 'Who's been here?' she wondered._

'_Ron and Hermione before she left. Since then, Ron just comes here to get out of the house during the afternoon.'_

'_Eww. Please tell me they didn't…'_

'_No,' replied Harry hastily. 'Not here anyway.'_

_Ginny raised an eyebrow. 'I could have lived my whole life without hearing that.'_

'_Me, too,' muttered Harry, sitting on a cushion. He leaned his back against one of the walls. Harry's eyes closed and for a moment, Ginny thought he went to sleep. She settled on one of the cushions on the other side of the room. 'So, I have a few things to answer for with you,' Harry said into the blanket of quiet, making Ginny jump. 'I know you don't agree with some of the decisions I made over the last year.'_

'_I suppose.'_

'_Ginny,' Harry said, opening his eyes, looking directly at her. '__I__ don't even like some of the decisions I made. But they were things I had to do. They were things nobody else could do.'_

'_I know that.'_

'_So don't hold it against me,' he said hotly._

'_I don't!'_

'_Yes, you do. You're angry with me. You're still angry I wouldn't tell Molly to let you go fight.' Harry held out a hand beseechingly. 'Let me finish? I know what you can do, Ginny. You've fought alongside me. But I couldn't risk you. I wouldn't have been able to come back from wherever it was I went after that Killing curse, if I knew you weren't here.'_

'_It was my fight, too,' Ginny muttered stubbornly._

'_I know it was, but God, Ginny, if I'd lost you, my life wouldn't have been worth three Knuts. That's one of the reasons you couldn't come with us. I know Hogwarts was complete and repulsive crap for you, but it was a damn sight safer there. I almost died more times from August to May than I had the previous six years.' Harry methodically cracked the knuckles of his hands. _

_Ginny looked up from the quill she had been twirling in her hands. 'You don't have to explain,' she said dully. 'I understand, all right?'_

'_I know you do. You always do. But that doesn't mean you liked it.'_

'_I don't like being treated like a child.'_

'_I never meant to treat you like a child. I just want you to be safe.'_

'_Harry,' Ginny sighed. 'You can't wrap me in layers of cotton wool and pack me in a box.'_

'_I know,' he replied, looking at his hands. 'And if I could, it would change you, and you wouldn't be the person I fell in love with.'_

'_Glad you finally realize that,' she said tartly._

'_I always did.' Harry stretched his feet out in front of him. 'So… the dying thing…' He tilted his head up to look through a window at the leaves blowing gently in the breeze. 'That was simple self-preservation. The Killing curse didn't work, and if Riddle knew I was alive, they would have killed me for good.' Harry's gaze drifted back to Ginny. 'I am sorry… For that… After everything else.' Harry's eyes bored into Ginny's. 'I was a Horcrux,' he said simply. 'I had to willingly die for that bit of Riddle to be destroyed.'_

'_How did you not die?' Ginny asked in a faint voice._

'_Ever heard of the Deathly Hallows?'_

'_No,' Ginny said, shaking her head._

'_The __Tale of the Three Brothers__?'_

'_Yes! Mum always told it to Ron and me.'_

'_It's true.' Harry pulled his Invisibility cloak from his pocket. 'This was handed down from the youngest brother.'_

'_That can't be true,' scoffed Ginny._

'_Ginny, I've had this since I was eleven, and it's been in more scrapes, but look at it.' Harry spread the cloak out between his hands. 'No holes, no tears, no fading. It works just as good as it did the day Dumbledore gave it back to me.' Harry carefully folded the water-soft folds and tucked the cloak back into his pocket. 'Do you remember the wand? The one Riddle had that morning? It was __the__ wand. It had been Dumbledore's. When Malfoy Disarmed Dumbledore last year, the wand switched allegiance to him. When I Disarmed Malfoy in March, it was mine. I just didn't have physical possession. That's why it didn't work very well for Riddle. The wand wasn't his.' Harry cocked his head to one side. Ginny was starting to look at him like he was crazy. 'I've not gone mad, you know. Do you remember the Snitch they brought to me on my birthday? From Dumbledore? It had a ring with the stone in it. And yes, it worked. But it's gone. And it needs to stay that way. Can't live in the past.'_

_Ginny was shaking her head. 'So if they're real, how did it work?' she asked skeptically._

'_I'm not too sure myself. I can guess, though.' Harry began to tick items off on his fingers. 'I had to have possession of all three objects, which I did, even if the wand wasn't physically in my hand. I also had to willingly die, and not want to cheat death. And I had to only want to use the stone momentarily, and not want to bring someone back for good.'_

'_That's insane,' Ginny breathed._

'_Yeah, it is,' agreed Harry. 'But considering I'm alive, I'm not going to question it.'_

'_What happened to the other two things?'_

'_I don't know where the stone is. It fell in the Forest. The wand is back in Dumbledore's tomb. I went out in the dead of night, under the cloak to replace it.' Harry suddenly lunged across the tree house, gripping Ginny's shoulders. 'Ginny, the only other people that know any of this are Ron and Hermione. And Dumbledore' he added, knowing Dumbledore's portrait did indeed know everything that had happened, even the conversation at King's Cross. 'Please, Ginny… Please promise me you won't try to find the ring!' A haunted expression flashed across Harry's eyes._

_Ginny gently grasped Harry's wrists in her hands, and she pulled his hands off her shoulders. 'I don't want to live in the past. Not even for Fred.' Harry slumped in relief. 'Why are you telling me all this?'_

'_You need to know, Ginny.' Harry's hands slid through Ginny's and his thumbs traced circles on her palms. 'And I needed to tell you.' He looked up at Ginny. 'Because I trust you. I trust you with my life.' Harry lifted one of Ginny's hands to his mouth, and pressed a kiss in the palm. 'How can I make it up to you?'_

_Ginny pulled back a little bit, so she could look at Harry. She had forgiven him a long time ago, even if she hadn't wanted to admit it. She gave Harry a hard kiss on the mouth. 'Earn me back,' she murmured against his lips._

* * *

Harry stretched out in the grass under the apple tree in the back garden. 'That's it,' he told Ron. 

'That's_all_ you did? Just talk?' Ron snorted.

'She's right, though. I need to earn her trust back.' Harry closed his eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. 'That's all I'm going to tell you, anyway.'

Ron sat quietly, watching the gnomes cavort in the shrubs. In a few minutes, he heard Harry's deep, even breathing. Harry had fallen asleep. Ron leaned against the trunk of the tree. He hoped Hermione was having a better time with her parents, than Harry was having with his own life.

* * *

Ron came down the stairs the next evening. Molly and Arthur had propelled a reluctant Harry into the sitting room after dinner. Ginny was sitting at the table, her head propped in her upturned hands, watching the closed door. 'Are they still in there?' 

'Mmm-hmmm. They put a Silencing charm on the door. Impenetrable, too,' she said as Ron began to pull an Extendable Ear out of his pocket.

'Bugger,' said Ron mildly. He looked at his watch. 'They've been in there for two hours,' he commented.

George wandered into the kitchen, and joined Ginny at the table. 'Still in there?'

'Yeah,' Ron said absently, rummaging in a cupboard for a tin of biscuits. He set it in the middle of the table. The door suddenly opened to reveal Arthur. Ron craned his neck and caught a glimpse of Harry sitting next to Molly on the sofa, her arms around him, as he wept silently, his body shaking with sobs. 'Dad? Is he okay?' Ron asked softly.

'He will be… One day.' Arthur said, patting Ron on the back.

* * *

­_Hermione…_

_Did you know that Harry cries without making a sound? Mum and Dad took him into the sitting room to talk after dinner a couple of days ago. About Fred. George, Ginny, and I keep telling him it's not his fault, but I think he won't start to believe it until he's convinced Mum and Dad forgive him for it._

_I was always a noisy crier. Loud, snotty… Don't tell anyone, okay? Actually, we all were kind of loud when we were upset. Especially Ginny, but she normally never cried unless she was angry. Still the same way today. During Dumbledore's funeral, I wanted to curl into a ball and scream, but I didn't because I knew you needed me to be… well… not me. That doesn't make sense, does it?_

_It makes me wonder, though…_

_What makes a person cry like that? It was almost creepy, the silent crying. _

_Ginny could barely stand it. She bit through her lip. George fixed her up, though._

_They talked, by the way. The Duo. They're not moping quite as much, but Harry's still prone to nightmares. Not every night anymore, thank Merlin._

_I can't wait for Monday. It'll be nice to do something. I have to admit, I'm getting a bit bored, although the cooking lessons are going well._

_Maybe when you come back, I can cook dinner for you._

_I promise it'll be good._

_R._

* * *

_A/N: _This was pretty Ron/Ginny/Harry-centric... Hermione will be in the next chapter. I wanted to show Harry and Ginny's reconciliation, but I didn't want Ron to actually observe it -- even Ron has a sense of when something needs to be private, so that's why I had Harry tell Ron about it, since the story is pretty much from Ron and Hermione's POV._  
_


	5. Smile For Me

_Jane sat up, rubbing her forehead. 'Richard, I just had the strangest dream…' _

'_Mum?' Hermione whispered, frozen to the spot._

'_Hermione?' Jane looked up. Her expression changed to one of open confusion as she took in the unfamiliar kitchen. 'Hermione, where are we?'_

'_It's a long story, Mum.'_

Hermione realized she was still clutching her wand. She shoved it back into a pocket and stood nervously in front of her parents. The corner of her mind that still managed to operate in complete rationality noted that her knees were about to buckle. She took a step to the side and leaned against the counter. The sound of her father clearing his throat made her tear her gaze away from her mother, and squarely meet her father's eyes. 'Hermione, what's going on?' Richard asked. 'And here, child, sit down before you fall over,' he said, pulling a third chair out from the table.

Hermione gratefully dropped into the chair Richard offered, clasping her hands together in her lap. 'It's a little complicated,' she confessed.

Jane closed her eyes. 'Just start at the beginning. Where are we?'

'Australia,' Hermione whispered so softly, hardly any sound escaped her lips.

'I'm sorry, you'll have to repeat that, Hermione,' said Richard, leaning forward slightly. 'Didn't quite get that one.'

'Australia,' she repeated, louder.

'Australia?' Jane said blankly. 'What on earth are we doing in Australia? What part of Australia?'

'Adelaide. And I sort of made you come to Australia.' Hermione dropped her gaze to the table's surface.

'I'm confused,' began Richard. 'I don't seem to remember you convincing us to come to Australia. In fact,' Richard's brow creased in thought. 'The last thing I remember is you telling me you had been invited to your friend Ron's brother's wedding.'

Hermione's heart was pounding so hard, she wondered that her parents couldn't hear it. She thought it felt like it was going to beat its way through her chest. She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but nothing came out. She nodded, confirming what Richard said.

Jane pulled the morning paper across the table and looked at the date. 'July 21, 1998?' she read softly.

'Yes,' Hermione choked.

Richard gave her a sympathetic glance and picked up a glass from the drain board and filled it with water. He wordlessly handed it to his daughter, and Hermione gave him a grateful, if shaky smile. 'So did you go to the wedding?' he asked, as she gulped half the contents.

'Yes, I did.' Hermione traced a finger around the rim of the glass. 'But before I left for Devon, I…' Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. 'I modified your memories,' she confessed.

'You did what?' exclaimed Jane.

'I modified your memories. Made you think you were someone else. Someone else without a daughter. Richard and Jane Granger couldn't exist anymore.' Tears slid down her face, dotting the collar of her shirt with patches of dampness. 'I did it to protect you,' she said, her voice breaking.

'Protect us from what?' Richard asked as Jane's voice overlapped.

'Why would we need to be protected?'

'I don't know where to start with that. There's so much to say.' Hermione leaned back in the chair, already exhausted and it wasn't even noon. 'There was this wizard, Tom Riddle. He hated anything and everything non-magic. Especially non-magic people and witches and wizards with non-magic parents.' She rubbed her eyes tiredly. They felt gritty. She hadn't slept much the past few days. 'And he targeted my friend Harry. Anybody associated with Harry wasn't safe. Riddle knew Harry and I were friends, and if you had been in Oxford, he would have found you and killed you.'

'But, why?' asked Jane, flabbergasted.

'Because you are my parents,' Hermione answered simply. 'That was his_modus operandi_, if you will. Tear your enemy apart bit by bit by killing everyone they love.'

Richard had been examining his hands. 'But why did you make us want to go to Australia? It's so far away.'

'Because it is so far away. The further I could get you away from England, the better. I couldn't take the risk of modifying your memory, then letting you stay in Britain or somewhere else in Europe.' Hermione shuddered, hearing Harry's hollow voice recount how Riddle had found Grindelwald and murdered him. 'He would have found you.'

Jane pushed her chair back from the table with a harsh grating sound. 'I need to go for a walk,' she said flatly. Before she left the kitchen, Jane whirled around and looked at Hermione. 'I assume you gave us a name?' she asked.

Hermione nodded. 'Monica and Wendell Wilkins.' Jane nodded shortly and left the kitchen.

'Mum, wait!' cried Hermione, but the only answer was the front door closing with a resounding _thud_. Hermione laid her head on the table in front of her, trying not to lose the control she held onto with her fingernails. 'Oh, God… She's never going to forgive me, is she, Dad?'

'Yes, she will. She might be angry for a while, but she'll forgive you,' Richard assured her.

'Dad, I'm so sorry I couldn't tell you any of this before.'

Richard's hand rose and from the table and came to rest on the back of Hermione's head. 'You don't have to apologize to me,' he said firmly, pulling Hermione into a tight embrace.

'I didn't have a choice, Dad. I had to protect you. You understand, don't you, Dad?' Hermione knew she was babbling, so she didn't break down completely.

'I do understand, Hermione. It's all right,' Richard soothed. 'I promise, it's okay.'

'It's weird what stays, even with the Memory charm,' Hermione murmured.

'What do you mean?'

Hermione sighed and leaned her head on Richard's shoulder. 'Like you and the roses,' she said, indicating the trellis outside the kitchen window. 'You chose to live in a house surrounded by rose bushes. Even though you didn't remember the rose garden in Oxford.' Hermione pulled a section of the paper closer to them, in order to display a portion of it. 'Mum still did the crossword in ink. Because she always did it in ink. They're small things that nobody but someone who knew you well, like me, would notice.'

They sat in silence for several minutes before Richard spoke. 'How was the wedding?'

Hermione blushed slightly. 'Well… One of Ron's evil great-aunts told me I had skinny ankles. It wasn't a compliment.'

'She sounds… Interesting,' commented Richard.

'Muriel Prewitt is an evil-tempered, bitter, old cow.' Hermione's eyes widened in shock. She never said anything like that in front of her parents.

'Don't sugar-coat it, Hermione. Tell me how you really feel,' said Richard dryly. 'So how was the rest of the wedding?'

'It was nice. Lovely. Ron and I danced. A lot.' The blush on Hermione's cheeks deepened.

'Ron, eh? How is Ron?' Richard grinned at Hermione.

'He's… Fine,' she said carefully.

'Just fine?'

'Well… we, uh…' Hermione bit her lip, as she trailed off. 'We're sort of…'

'Dating?'

'Something like that,' she admitted.

'It's about time,' Richard said smugly.

'You knew?' Hermione asked weakly.

'Yes, we did your mum and me. For years. Since that Christmas the school had a ball. What was that? Your fourth year?' Hermione nodded. 'You were so angry when you wrote home about it, that your mum said you had to like him.' Richard chuckled. 'So you and Ron. When we get back to Oxford bring him round for dinner, okay? I want to make sure he's good enough for my girl.'

'I'll try.' Hermione smiled.

Richard sobered. If Hermione had been telling the truth about the last year, it must have been terrible for her. 'How bad was it?'

'Bad enough.' Hermione didn't want to talk about the last year, but she knew she would have to at least give her parents the quick version. 'Not now, though, Dad. I'm done in, and Mum needs to hear it, too. Maybe it'll help her see it from my side of things.'

'You know she loves you, Hermione. She's just never been comfortable with the magic. Doesn't think things should be so _easy_.'

'It isn't, always. Morally or ethically sometimes.' Hermione propped her head on a hand and struggled to keep her eyes open. She felt a tug on her other hand.

'Come on, then. Why don't you go lie down? You look like you haven't slept in days.'

'I haven't, really.' Hermione wearily pushed herself to her feet and followed Richard into the sitting room. He held a blanket in his hands, and indicated the overstuffed sofa. Hermione sank into the cushions, and bent to untie the laces of her trainers. She pulled them off, and set them aside, falling into sofa's embrace. Richard spread the blanket over her, and in minutes she was asleep.

* * *

The low murmur of voices drifted into Hermione's consciousness. She pulled her arm up to eye level, and squinted at her watch. It was four in the afternoon. She'd been asleep for hours. She had been dreaming about Ron to the sounds of a song her parents liked. Something about leaving on a jet plane.

Hermione closed her eyes, and searched her memories. Jane sang it with her every year as she packed her trunk for school. Even when Hermione left Oxford early to go to Devon. Snatches of the lyrics floated through her brain until she clearly heard:

­_Dream about the days to come/When I won't have to leave alone/About the times that I won't have to say/Oh, kiss me, and smile for me/Tell me that you'll never leave/Hold me like you'll never let me go./I'm leaving on a jet plane./I don't know when I'll be back again./Oh, babe, I hate to go._

'Every place I go/I think of you/Every song I sing/I sing for you/When I come back, I'll wear your…' Hermione sang to herself, before shaking her head. It wouldn't make her miss Ron less. She rubbed her eyes, and slowly pushed herself into a sitting position, the blanket pooling around her waist.

'You're awake!' Richard's cheerful voice said. Hermione twisted around to see her father's head poking through the kitchen doorway. 'Are you hungry at all? I've got some sandwiches for tea.'

Hermione had thought she wasn't feeling up for food, but her stomach rumbled in a way that reminded her of Ron, and the way he was always up for food. 'I could eat,' she said cautiously, before she got up and trailed into the kitchen.

'You used to do that after your nap when you were a baby,' said Jane.

Hermione looked down, and realized she still clutched the blanket from the sofa in her hand. 'Oh. I'm sorry. I'll just go…' She turned and started to go back into the sitting room, when a soft hand landed on her arm. She turned her head to see Jane standing next to her. 'I really am sorry, Mum. It wasn't an easy thing to do to you. I didn't want to do it, but I didn't have much of a choice, if it meant sparing your life. And even if I couldn't reverse the charm, at least I would have been able to find you, and know you were still alive.'

Jane gently tugged the blanket from Hermione's hands. 'I know. But, Hermione, it's just… Too easy.' Jane folded the blanket neatly, and held it against her chest for a moment. 'It shouldn't be that easy to make me forget you.'

'It wasn't,' Hermione replied quietly. 'You have no idea how guilty I felt for doing that.'

Jane reached out with a trembling hand and brushed a curl from Hermione's face. Hermione leaned into the brief caress for a moment before Jane turned and took the blanket back into the sitting room.

It wasn't forgiveness yet.

It was a beginning, at least.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione was awake before sunrise. She tried to turn over and go back to sleep, but it was no good. Once she was awake, that was it. She scrubbed a hand over her face, and groaned softly as she looked at the alarm clock next to the bed. It was six in the morning. Five in the afternoon the previous day at the Burrow.

Hermione wondered what everyone was doing. Had George smiled or laughed yet? Was Harry still avoiding everyone? Had he talked to Ginny at all? Were Molly and Arthur all right? The Weasleys were just as much her family now as they were Harry's.

Shrugging mentally, Hermione pushed the bedding back, and sat up, shoving her feet into her slippers. She might was well get the newspaper off the front walk. She grabbed a jacket from one of the hooks by the front door, and swiftly made her way to the end of the walk, where the newspaper lay. Hermione ran lightly back into the house, and quietly closed the door. She hung the jacket back up and gasped when she heard Jane say, 'That's quite an eye-catching shirt.' Jane stood at the end of the hallway leading to the front door, a slight smile on her face.

'Mum! I thought you were asleep.'

Jane shook her head. 'No. I heard you go out the door.' She examined the front of the shirt with a puzzled expression. 'Chudley Cannons? Sounds like a footie team. When did you start to like football?' she asked bemusedly.

'It's not football,' Hermione mumbled. 'It's a Quidditch team.'

'Quidditch… That's the one with the balls that fly? And the players, too?'

'Yes.'

'I didn't think you particularly cared for sports.'

'I don't.' Hermione made her way into the kitchen and laid the paper on the table.

Jane followed her daughter, eyeing the shirt. It was crumpled and looked like it had a few grass stains on it. It was also several sizes too large. 'Is it your shirt?'

Hermione busied herself with the kettle. 'No,' she said, her eyes fixed on the water streaming into the kettle. She felt her cheeks burn.

Jane noticed the blush, too. 'So… Who does it belong to?' She had a good idea, but wanted Hermione to admit it.

'Ron.'

'Ron?' Jane was shocked. 'Ron, as in Ron-doesn't-notice-girls-are-girls? Ron Weasley? Tall, redheaded Ron?'

'Yes.' Hermione let the kettle drop to the stovetop with a clatter.

'I take it he finally noticed you are indeed a girl?'

Hermione blushed even more. 'I'd say so.'

'Does he know you have his shirt?'

'Erm… No.' Hermione grinned ruefully. 'He's probably torn his room apart looking for it by now.'

Jane sat quietly for several moments, watching Hermione prepare a pot of tea and collect two cups, before bringing it all to the table. 'Are you going to tell your dad and me about the last year?'

Hermione's hand froze on the handle of the teapot. Taking in a deep breath, she slowly lifted the pot, and poured out two cups of tea, and nudged one to her mother. 'Later today, maybe? It's going to take a while, though,' she warned. 'And it's not exactly the stuff of fairy tales.'

* * *

Hermione settled on a cushion on the floor, her parents looking at her expectantly. 'So… I'm not sure where to start.' She ran a hand through her hair. 'I guess maybe I should start back in my first year of school.'

'Back that far?' Richard asked.

'Yes,' Hermione said. 'It even goes back farther than that. There was once a young boy, who had been abandoned by his father before he was born. His mother, who was a witch, died when he was born. His name was Tom Riddle. When he found out he'd been abandoned by his Muggle father, it seemed to twist something inside him. He hated everything about Muggles. Didn't think Muggle-born witches and wizards were good enough to teach them magic. He became pure evil,' she whispered. 'The epitome of evil. He learned how to literally split his soul into different pieces.'

'How can you split your soul?' Jane wondered.

'By committing a horrible, terrible act. Murder. He learned how to store parts of his soul in other things. It made him nearly invincible.' Hermione passed a shaking hand over her eyes. 'Until one Halloween in 1981, when he found where James and Lily Potter and their one-year old son Harry lived. He murdered James, and then found and killed Lily, who died protecting Harry. He then turned the Killing curse on Harry, but it didn't work. Harry survived, and Riddle… He vanished.'

'So that was good,' interjected Richard.

'Yes, and no.' Hermione nibbled a fingernail, frowning. 'It was good, because the wizarding world was free from his tyranny. But bad, because there were some people knew he wasn't really dead, and it was only a matter of time before he came back. And because it forced Harry to go live with his relatives who didn't really want him.'

'So why did he have to live there?' exclaimed Jane indignantly. 'Couldn't someone else take him in?'

'Well, no… His aunt was his mother's sister, and because of some rather old and complex magic, as long as he could live with his aunt, he was safe. And his godfather was accused of murdering thirteen people the day after his parents died… So…' Hermione shrugged. 'He stayed with his aunt and uncle until Harry turned seventeen. That's when witches and wizards are considered adults,' she explained.

'What does this have to do with your first year of school?' Richard asked, learning forward a bit.

'He tried to come back, then. Harry, Ron, and I stopped him. He tried again my second year, but we stopped him. My fourth year, he did come back. My sixth year, he tried to have Professor Dumbledore killed.'

'Didn't Dumbledore die at the end of that year?' Jane's hands were clenched together in her lap.

Hermione nodded. 'Yes. But he was dying anyway. It just hastened the inevitable. That year, he and Harry had been doing "research", for lack of a better word. They were trying to find out which objects Riddle used to hide his soul. If they could be found, and destroyed, it would be possible to kill Riddle.'

'Since you're here, you found them, I suppose.' Richard looked at Hermione. 'That's what you did this last year, isn't it?'

'We found them. Two had already been found and destroyed. We needed to find five more. We found one, and had to carry it around with us for weeks. It was awful. It was a locket and we wore it to keep it safe. It made us think all sorts of horrible things. The worst things we ever thought about ourselves.' Hermione shuddered, remembering. 'The others were just as difficult to find, and you might say they were slightly less stressful. At least we didn't have to wear them. Harry was one. He had to die.'

'Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry,' said Jane, reaching for Hermione's hand.

'Oh, no, Mum. He's fine. Well, physically fine. I can't explain why he's still alive, because according to all logic, he should be dead, but he's not.'

'This is all well and good, Hermione, but it still doesn't explain why you felt like you had to send us out here, with no memory of who you were.' Jane reminded her.

'Riddle knew Harry and I were friends. And like I said, he hated all things Muggle. He would have tried to basically read your memory to find out our plans. He would have killed or tortured you to try and get me to give up Harry. I could not risk that. And even if he did find you, as far as you were concerned, you were not Jane and Richard Granger, with a daughter who was Harry Potter's best friend. You were Monica and Wendell Wilkins who had no daughter. Even if you looked like Jane and Richard, you weren't them.'

Hermione gazed out a window watching the play of sun and shadow. She was quiet for so long, Richard tentatively said, 'Hermione?'

'It was the worst year of my life. We were constantly in danger. The Ministry fell to Riddle the night of Bill's wedding. Harry, Ron, and I fled the wedding and went to the house Harry's godfather left him when he died the year before. We stayed there for a while. Then we had to run when they found us. We were cold, hungry, depressed, scared. And that was a good day. Ron left us at one point. It almost broke Harry and me. It felt like something was missing, but I couldn't put my finger on it until Ron came back right after Christmas. We came close to being captured and nearly died a few times. We were captured in March. And taken to Riddle's supporters' headquarters. Harry and Ron were thrown into a dungeon, and one of them tried to torture me into confessing everything before we were able to escape.' Hermione bit her lip and tried to keep the tears from falling down her face.

'Are you… Injured in any way?' Richard's face creased with concern, as Jane grasped his hand.

'No,' gulped Hermione. 'They don't use normal means of torture. But believe me; it hurts like nothing you've ever felt, though.'

'Who did it to you?' Jane's eyes were blazing with the same look Molly had worn when she dueled Bellatrix. 'I'll find them, and I'll…' She clenched her jaw angrily.

'She's dead,' Hermione replied dully. 'In a battle at the beginning of May at the school. When Riddle was killed.' Her face crumpled. 'Over fifty people died. People I knew. People I sat next to at meals at school.' Hermione slowly pushed herself to her feet. She was shaking. 'I had nightmares for a month afterwards. I still do. I keep trying to think there was something we could have done differently. And I really hope you got all the answers you need, because I don't – I _can't_ – talk about this again.' She started to walk toward the spare bedroom, but stopped in front of Jane and Richard. 'I just want to wake up tomorrow, and find out it's all been a horrible dream, but it's more real than anything else I've ever known.'

* * *

A/N: The song is 'Leaving on a Jet Plane'. Lyrics by John Denver. Jane Granger sings the Peter, Paul, and Mary version. 


	6. What's Normal?

'Hey, Ron?' Harry's head poked out of Bill's room. 'Can I talk to you for a mo?'

'Sure.' Mystified, Ron followed Harry into Bill's room. The room was unnaturally clean. For Harry anyway. Harry could be an even bigger slob than Ron sometimes.

'Do you mind if I sleep in the attic with you?' Harry blurted. 'It's been so… _weird_ to sleep alone.'

'N-n-no,' stammered Ron.

'I know,' Harry sighed. 'I sound like a complete eejit. It's just after seven years… It's…' He shrugged.

Ron knew what he meant. It was comforting sometimes to have another presence in the room. 'Grab your stuff, then. I'll get the camp bed set up.' Harry nodded and gathered his pajamas and a set of clothes for the next day, relief evident on his face.

'Thanks,' Harry said quietly.

'No worries, mate.' Ron led Harry up to the attic. 'Hey, I've got a birthday present for you.'

'It's so good you can't wait until tomorrow?' Harry scoffed.

'Better than _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_,' Ron assured.

'I'll believe it when I see it,' muttered Harry, climbing the last set of stairs.

Ron rolled his eyes and handed Harry a small package he picked up from his night table. 'I hope you like it,' he said.

Harry sat on the edge of Ron's bed, and tore the paper off. Inside were two framed photographs. One was of Harry's seventeenth birthday from the previous year. Harry traced the faces of the people in the photograph. The Weasleys, Remus, Tonks. He bit his lip, trying not to cry. Ever since the night Molly and Arthur tried to convince him it wasn't his fault Fred died, tears seemed to hover under the surface. Ron privately thought it was good for Harry to grieve. The one underneath was one Molly had taken of Sirius and Harry at Christmas their fifth year. 'Where did you find these?' he asked hoarsely.

'Mum had them. She has loads of them in a box for you. I think Dad told her your relatives didn't have any of you after we picked you up for the World Cup.' Ron tilted the frame of the photograph of Harry and Sirius toward the light. 'These were two of the best.'

'Thanks, Ron.' Harry threw an arm around Ron's shoulders and they hugged in that awkward, yet heartfelt way teenage boys had, pounding each other on the back. 'They're perfect.' He set them carefully on the windowsill.

'How's it going with Ginny?'

'Fine, I suppose.' Harry shrugged. 'We go for a walk after lunch and talk. Not that we can go very far,' he said a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. 'Damn reporters. As long as we stay within the confines of the Burrow… Bloody ironic, isn't it? The first summer in years I'm absolutely effing safe and I'm just as much a prisoner as I was when Riddle was after me.' Harry lightly kicked at the footboard of Ron's bed.

'Mum's having a party for your birthday tomorrow.'

'Why?'

'Normalcy. Just the family, Hagrid, McGonagall, Shacklebolt. She asked Mrs. Tonks to come and bring Teddy. Luna, Neville, Mrs. Longbottom. You know. Family.' Ron found the magically shrunk camp bed under his bed, and performed an Enlargement charm. 'Face it, mate. You're the first one of us to have a birthday since the battle. It's all on you.'

'I'm not twelve,' grumbled Harry, making up the bed.

'I know you're not, Harry, but just let Mum do it,' Ron beseeched him. 'It'll make her happy.' Ron saw the arrow hit its mark. Harry slumped a little in defeat.

'Fine.' Harry would have rather died than do something to make Molly unhappy. He pulled on his pajamas and settled into the camp bed. Harry stacked his hands behind his head. 'Heard from Hermione again?'

'No,' Ron replied, only a tad morosely. 'Don't even know when she'll be back.'

'How did she get there?'

Ron paused in the act of climbing into his bed, nearly gifting Harry with an incredulous look before he realized Hermione had gone when Harry spent ninety percent of his time hiding in Bill's room. 'Portkeys. I think ten of them.'

Harry shuddered. He hated using Portkeys. 'And getting back?'

'Aeroplane? Is that the right word?' Ron asked uncertainly.

'Yeah. That'll be a long flight.'

'Harry?' There was something else bothering Ron.

'Yeah?'

'Have you seen my Cannons t-shirt?'

'No.'

'Are you sure?'

'It's pretty hard to miss,' Harry said dryly. 'When did you see it last?'

'Afternoon Hermione and I –' Ron bit off the end of the sentence. 'The afternoon before Hermione left,' he said. He had slipped up to his room to change his shirt, not wanting to try and make something up about the grass stains at the time. He didn't remember seeing it again. 'I've looked everywhere.'

'If you're a good boy this year, and don't give me any grief for dating your sister, I'll replace it for you for Christmas.' Harry yawned and rolled over.

Ron watched Harry sleep for a moment, before he blew out the oil lamp on the night table and went to sleep himself.

The soft sounds of the floorboards creaking, accompanied by the rustle of clothing, made Ron wake up. 'Harry?' Ron squinted in the semi-darkness of the early summer morning. 'What time is it?'

Harry checked his watch. 'Half past five,' he whispered.

'What are you doing up so early?'

'Just need to do something.'

'Are you going to be gone long? Mum's got that dinner planned for tonight.'

'I'll be back in a few hours.' Harry swiftly opened the door and left the room.

Ron tried to go back to sleep, but the sound of voices floating up from the back garden through his open window kept him awake. Feeling only slightly guilty, he grabbed an Extendable Ear from his night table, and flung one end out of the window. 'I'm going to Godric's Hollow,' Harry told someone.

'Can I come?' It was Ginny. What on earth was she doing awake so early?

Ron heard Harry's soft intake of breath as he hesitated. 'Not today, Gin,' he said gently. 'I have to go do this alone. Next time, I promise. I'll take you with me.'

'What are you doing?'

'I need to see my parents. I have to tell them something.'

'Oh.'

'And I need to see if something I've asked to have done has been finished yet.'

'What?'

'Sirius. Grave marker. I asked to have one placed by Mum and Dad's.' Ron could almost feel the shrug in Harry's voice.

'I think he'd like it,' Ginny said softly.

'I hope so.' There was a long pause before Ron heard Harry's voice again. It was slightly ragged. Ron recognized that particular tone. He'd heard it often enough in his own voice after kissing Hermione. 'Go on back to bed. Get some more sleep.'

Ron yanked the Extendable Ear back through the window, his hand patting blindly for his diary.

_July 31, 1998_

_Harry had a marker put up for Sirius by his parents. Did you know that? I didn't. I don't think anybody knew._

_He came up to the attic to sleep last night. I think he's scared to sleep alone. Can't say I blame him, when you spend the better part of seven years sharing a room with four other people. Sharing a room… It's like trying to go back to something like normal._

_He's getting… Better, I guess. He sleeps more. Joins us for most meals. He's come to help George and me clean up the shop and get things ready to open in a week or so. Doesn't really smile or laugh much, though._

_The shop's coming along great. George taught Harry and me how to make some of the more popular merchandise so we can have it on the shelves when students start coming to Diagon Alley to buy their school things. _

_The repairs on Hogwarts are going well. According to Bill and Charlie. They're helping get it back together. It should be ready to open for the school year in September. They'll have to continue repairs around the students, but McGonagall doesn't think it'll disrupt classes too much._

Ron yawned, and closed the diary. It was still early as arse. He wasn't helping Molly with breakfast today, so he snuggled back into bed and went to sleep.

* * *

Andromeda juggled Teddy's bag, as she Apparated next to the Burrow's back garden gate, Teddy snuggled into a sling. Harry sprinted to the gate and opened it for Andromeda. 'Here, let me,' he said, taking the bag from her, only grimacing slightly at the colorful bunnies that chased each other around the middle. He stood back to allow Andromeda through the gate, determinedly ignoring the reporters who still lingered in the lane in front of the house. 

He peeked at the baby sleeping in the sling. It was the first time he'd really laid eyes on Teddy. He had seen him at Tonks' and Remus' funerals, but he was so far down in his own grief, he hadn't noticed much around him. Then, it had been more about putting one foot in front of the other than anything else. Teddy's hair was sandy brown, and Harry could make out round, chubby cheeks. 'Would you like to hold him?'

Harry's gaze jerked up to Andromeda. 'I… I've never…' He looked back down at the sleeping baby. 'I've never held one before.'

'It's easy.' She headed for the group of people sitting around the battered tables. She motioned for Harry to sit down, and gently lifted Teddy from the sling. 'Watch his head,' she said, as she laid the baby in Harry's arms. Harry held him gingerly, as if Teddy's head was going to start spinning. Teddy yawned and squirmed, making Harry look up, anxiety on his face.

'Relax,' Ginny said, coming to stand behind Harry. She smoothed the tuft of sandy hair with her palm. 'He won't explode.' She dropped gracefully into the chair next to him. 'You look nice with a baby,' Ginny commented.

Harry squinted at Ginny. 'What's that supposed to mean?' he asked warily.

'Nothing, you prat. It just means you look like you'll make a good father one day.'

Harry carefully leaned back in the chair and snuggled Teddy a bit closer. 'I don't even know what I'm supposed to do as his godfather.'

'Technically, it means you could take custody of him,' offered Andromeda, a slight hitch in her voice.

Harry glanced up from his examination of Teddy's face. 'Not unless you want me to,' he said firmly. Andromeda shook her head. 'I would like to see him in a regular basis, if that's all right with you,' he added.

'You can see him any time you want.' Andromeda leaned forward, watching Teddy sleep. 'Just help Teddy become the kind of man his father would have wanted him to be.'

_So today deserves two entries…_

_We did Harry's birthday today. It was weird trying to be cheerful. Andromeda came with Teddy. He's got Remus' eyes. When he was awake, his hair went from black to red, depending on who held him – Harry or Ginny. Andromeda's going to start bringing Teddy over on Saturday mornings to let Harry have him for the day. Harry wants to have the whole weekend, but Andromeda's not quite ready for that yet._

_Shacklebolt came to the party, too. Oh, wait… Dinner. Harry refused to let Mum call it a party. You remember that letter we each got the other day? The one where Shacklebolt offered us each a position in the Aurors? I turned him down. I really did mean what I told George. I'm done._

_Harry had a long discussion with Shacklebolt about whether or not to take the job. The short version is that Harry said he'd take it. But not until after September first._

_So as of September second, Harry will be the youngest Auror ever._

* * *

Hermione stood in front of the nondescript office building that housed the entrance to the Ministry office in Adelaide. She walked in the door and took a left. She walked down a long hallway and came to a door that opened to an office that was in a constant state of disrepair. Hermione stopped at the dusty receptionist's desk. 'I'm here to see Atticus MacNeill,' she said. The door behind the desk opened to admit her to the sunny hallway that led to Atticus' office. 

She walked down the hallway slowly, drinking in the scenery through the windows. Too soon, she came to Atticus' office. Hermione softly knocked on the door. 'Mr. MacNeill?'

'Miss Granger!' he said delightedly. 'Please, sit. How are you parents?'

'Fine. We're going to need some time to get things closed up here, though.' Hermione thought she had concealed the expression of dismay.

'Not enjoying your time here?'

'Oh, no, it's fine. I just have a friend…' Hermione trailed off, not sure how to describe her relationship with Ron. 'When I planned this, I didn't think beyond restoring my parents' memories. I didn't realize it would take longer than a few days to get things settled here.'

'Do you have an idea of when you might be ready to leave?' Atticus pulled a calendar across the desk.

'End of August, early September,' Hermione sighed.

Atticus flipped a few pages. 'Does September third work for you?'

'I guess.' Hermione toyed with the fraying hem of an old Christmas jumper. 'How is it going to work? The travel?'

'We'll get aeroplane tickets for you and your parents. The report we got from Maisri says you have their British passports, yes?'

'I do.'

'Good. That makes things a lot easier. We won't have to try to get them any identification from here.' Atticus leaned back a bit. 'On the second, we'll get you and your parents on a flight from here to Sydney. You'll stay the night in Sydney, and the next afternoon, board a flight to London. To Heathrow. You'll have one stop in Hong Kong. You'll arrive in London about a day later.'

'All right. Is it going to be that easy?'

'One of us will be with you until you get on the aeroplane, Miss Granger. We'll try to make it all as smooth as possible for you.'

'Is this all I need to do?' Hermione's brow creased with anxiety. She hated having things taken out of her hands like this.

'Yes.' Atticus smiled gently at her. 'No worries, Miss Granger. We'll take care of everything. We'll send word of your departure time to Sydney. Just be ready to go.'

'I don't know how to thank all of you,' Hermione murmured.

'No, Miss Granger.' Atticus paused, taking in the young witch in front of him. 'We don't know how to thank you. Or your friends.'

* * *

Hermione regarded the Cannons t-shirt. It was terribly creased and needed laundering. She fingered one of the green smudges that arced across the sleeve. Hermione sighed and dropped it on top of a pile of her clothes. She had only brought a few days' worth of clothes, and needed to wash what she had brought with her. 'So what's the story behind that shirt?' 

Hermione looked up to see her mother leaning in the doorway. 'Why does there have to be a story?'

'There doesn't, but it looks like it has a good one.'

'Maybe.'

'There's no good reason why you brought one of Ron's shirts halfway around the world?' Jane quirked an eyebrow at her daughter. 'I find that hard to believe.'

Hermione felt her cheeks blaze with a warmth she had only ever seen on a Weasley. 'Ron was wearing it when we…' Hermione shrugged, unsure of how exactly to tell her mother the circumstances.

Jane came to sit on the edge of the bed, next to her daughter. 'Hermione, dear, I don't mean to pry, but is there something you want to tell me?'

'Not particularly,' muttered Hermione.

'There's not something, or there is, but you don't want to tell me?'

'I'm not overjoyed about telling you.' Hermione picked up the much-abused shirt and began to fold and re-fold it. 'He was wearing it when we had sex before I left!' she blurted. Hermione gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth, as if it weren't too late to prevent the words from being said.

'Oh.' Jane blinked. 'Well, then.' She picked up one of Hermione's jumpers and unconsciously mimicked her daughter's actions. 'Do you have any questions?' she asked, smoothing a sleeve.

'Erm… No. Not too hard to figure out.' Hermione studiously avoided her mother's gaze.

'Oh.' Jane shook out the jumper, and began to meticulously fold it again. 'Please tell me you remembered protection,' she demanded.

'Yes, Mum, of course I did.' Hermione met her mother's eyes.

'Was it one of… _theirs_?' Hermione shook her head. 'Oh, so they don't have something?' Jane asked perplexed.

'No, they do,' assured Hermione. 'But I'd have to go to Diagon Alley to get a potion, and I can't exactly meander into an apothecary for one these days. And there is a charm, but it's about as effective as most Muggle ways.' Hermione gave her mother a sidelong look. 'It's only as good as the person casting the charm, and if you get, ah, caught up in the moment, it's not very good.' Hermione traced another grass stain. 'We used a condom,' she said softly.

'Good, good,' murmured Jane distractedly. 'So had you or Ron… Ever…?'

Hermione smiled a little, remembering the conversation she and Ron had in the tree house about that every subject. 'No.'

'Oh.'

Hermione dropped her gaze back to the mass of orange in her lap. 'Are you disappointed, Mum?'

Jane sighed a little. 'I do wish you had waited a bit longer. But…' She shrugged. Jane reached over and tilted Hermione's chip upward a bit, so she could look at her. 'Do you regret doing that with Ron?' she asked.

'No!' replied Hermione hotly.

'You've never disappointed me, and I can't see you starting now.' Jane stooped to gather the clothes in her arms. 'You've always known exactly what you wanted, Hermione. Even when you were a little girl.' Jane stopped at the door, and looked back at her daughter. 'Where do you see this going?'

'See what going?'

'Ron. Can you picture yourself with him in five years? Ten?' Jane gave Hermione a crooked grin. 'Just something to think about.'

­_July 27, 1998_

_I told Mum. Everything. Well, not everything. Just about you and me. She seemed to be all right with it._

Hermione chewed the end of the pen she held.

_She asked me if I could see myself with you in the future. Something to think about. How could I not have a future with you, when I've got so much of a past with you?_

_To be honest, I hadn't thought that far ahead. I haven't been doing much of that lately, have I? It seems like I've hardly been able to think about the next twenty minutes, much less the next twenty hours._

_All right, then. You. Me. A future?_

_Something normal. _

_Not so long ago when thinking like that was dangerous. Reminded me that I had something to lose, when we needed to act as if we had nothing to lose._

_When you left, things weren't right. It was like the time I broke my right arm when I was nine, and had to use my left hand for weeks. It just didn't feel 'right'. When you came back, it was like something snapped back into place. Like doing magic with your own wand, and not someone else's. _

_I want a normal life with you. I want the kind of life we couldn't even begin to imagine six months ago._

* * *

Hermione's nightmares after the battle were much more mundane than she believed Harry's were. She had one dream, and it played in a continuous loop. That it had been Ron to die instead of Fred. It was Ron's body laid out in the Great Hall. 

In the days right after the battle, Hermione had woken up every night in a cold sweat, gasping for breath every night. One night, two weeks after the battle, she had even slipped up the stairs to Ron's room, just to reassure herself he was alive. She found herself climbing into the narrow bed with him. He woke up, then. He hadn't said anything, just spooned her against him and gone back to sleep.

The night she told her parents about the last year, Hermione had been afraid to fall asleep.

Finally, worn out by forcing herself to relive the past year, Hermione fell asleep. And didn't dream about the battle.

She dreamed about Ron leaving them.

It was the image she saw when she went to sleep now.

_Hermione ran out of the tent after Ron, screaming his name. Only the echoes filtered through the eddies of rain-drenched fog. She tripped over a tree root, and landed face-down in the cold, freezing mud. She spit out a mouthful of mud and pushed herself to her feet again, stumbling in circles through the sheets of rain, calling for Ron…_

'Hermione!'

'No… Ron…' Hermione whimpered, still in the grip of her nightmare.

'Hermione!' Richard shook her slightly.

'Please…' Hermione protested weakly, eyes shut tightly.

'Hermione, wake up.' Richard shook Hermione a bit harder.

Hermione woke up, her eyelids flying open. 'Dad?' She sat up quickly, nearly knocking heads with Richard, pulling her knees to her chest.

Richard put his arms around Hermione, rocking her gently. He couldn't even begin to imagine what she had been through. It seemed only a short time ago that she was five and was afraid of monsters under her bed. Richard's father had fought his way through Belgium and France during World War II. Richard was almost ten when his father finally came home. He had nightmares, too, and like Hermione refused to talk about it.

* * *

Hermione slid into bed. Over the past couple of weeks, her parents had cajoled her into telling them what it had been like at school. So bit by bit she told them all the things she had never said before. Not that she had ever been anything other than honest with them, but she had hidden a few things. Like Fluffy. And the botched Polyjuice potion. That her favorite teacher had been a werewolf. Blackmailing a reporter to keep her mouth shut. The DA and fighting at the Department of Mysteries. The first battle at the school. That was where she stopped, though. Anything from the past year was strictly off-limits as far as Hermione was concerned. 

She wanted to go home.

She had realized, with an increasing sense of guilt, that home was no longer the house in Oxford, but the Burrow.

She picked up her diary, and held it open on her lap for several minutes.

_August 19, 1998_

_Just a little longer, Ron. _

_I'll be home in two weeks._

_I hope you're all right._

_I've missed Harry's birthday. I've missed Ginny's birthday. I don't want to miss any more of them._

_I miss you._

She closed the diary, and set it on the night table.

* * *

A/N: She's going home really, really soon! If not the next chapter, then the one right after that. :) 


	7. Home

_12 August 1998_

_I wish you'd been here this morning. You would have died._

_Or is that a bad choice of words…?_

_Either way, last night, at the end of Ginny's birthday party, we all went inside, and Harry and Ginny stayed in the garden, talking. I could hear them through my bedroom window when I went to sleep. Anyway, it was a bit crowded, as Bill, Fleur, Charlie, and Percy decided to stay the night. It __was__ rather late when the party finally wound down._

_The next thing I knew, Mum was screaming bloody murder about Harry and Ginny not being in their beds and something about rogue Death Eaters._

_We – Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, and me – ran outside, still in our pajamas, (did you know that Percy sleeps in boxers with Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle on them? Oh, wait, of course you don't… Well, neither did I until this morning!) wands at the ready, only to find them curled up under the apple tree sound asleep._

_Harry looked as if we were going to spread honey on his bollocks and stake him out over an ant hill. I have to admit, though, it did cross my mind. Ginny went red, and I don't have to tell you what that means._

_I don't think they just 'talked'. No more than you and I just 'talked' in the tree house. Harry's shirt was untucked and half-unbuttoned, and Ginny's was buttoned up all wrong._

_And yes, it bothers me that they were doing the same thing we've done. But we're older than Ginny!_

_Long story short, Mum set them a curfew until school starts. They have to be inside the sitting room, at least, at ten. Harry accepted it, of course, but Ginny raged and stormed, shouting at Mum that she was of age._

_It was highly entertaining._

_That's not all, though._

_George finally laughed. I mean, really laughed. It was over how he thought Fred would have reacted. He had to sit down he was laughing so hard._

_That was it for Gin. She stalked back to the house, Harry trailing along behind her. _

Ron shut the diary and settled into the bed. Harry was still downstairs with Ginny.

He was tired, but pleasantly so. Working in the shop was harder than anything he had ever done before. Hogwarts students were coming into Diagon Alley to buy their things for school. They were busy from the time the shop opened until it closed at five.

George was actually a good teacher, when it came to teaching him how to make the merchandise. He was patient and, above all, thorough. Ron began to think if Fred and George had put their minds to it, they would have been the top in their class.

Ron was also beginning to realize how much he missed Hermione. She had always been there, either at school, or the Burrow. He was beginning to regret their decision not to write letters while she was gone. _But neither of us thought she'd be gone this long_, Ron sighed to himself. He wondered why she hadn't thought to use the… _What is that? Telephone?_ The Burrow didn't have one, but maybe she could have called the telephone box in the village.

Ron pulled the diary back out.

_I really miss you, Mione. I hope you're coming back soon._

Ron placed the diary on his night table, and rolled over, leaving the lamp burning, so Harry wouldn't stub his toes. He hugged a pillow to his chest, but it wasn't the same as falling asleep with Hermione's body snuggled next to him.

­_Merlin, Mione, please come home soon_.

* * *

Hermione used her wand to push the sofa back against the wall. They had a bit over a week until they left Adelaide for Sydney. _Then to London_, she thought. She stretched, arching to stretch the muscles in her lower back. Jane didn't think cleaning with magic was as thorough as doing it by hand. Jane had wanted to make sure the house was spotless before they left. Hermione hadn't tried to argue, and just rolled up her sleeves. Today she had scrubbed the baseboards in the sitting room and both bedrooms. Luckily the house was on the small side, and there wasn't much furniture. 

Tomorrow Jane would handle the kitchen, while Hermione scrubbed the bathroom.

Richard had been seeing to the laundry. He was in the process of washing all the curtains and bedding. He would take care of their clothes that weekend, and they would pack on Monday.

Hermione had forgotten how exhausting it was to do everything the Muggle way. But she found the repetition of motion somewhat soothing. For the first time in years, Hermione found herself with nothing else to do. Nothing to research. No school on September first.

A week from today, someone else would worry about making sure they got on a flight to Sydney. Then someone else would worry about them making the flight to London. And someone else would worry about picking them up at Heathrow and getting them home to Oxford.

She didn't even have to worry about the house. Shacklebolt had told her he would see to removing the charms she put on it before she left. He also said he'd see to it that any maintenance that needed to be done would be completed before they arrived. Hermione hoped he wouldn't use house elves. Or if he did, she could find out where they were and offer them payment of some sort.

Nothing to worry about at all.

The relief was nearly palpable to Hermione.

The sound of music reached her ears. Hermione traced the sound to the kitchen, where a small radio sat perched on the counter, music from a long gone era softly wailing into the sitting room. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to place the song. It was written by some American in the 1940s. ­_Moonlight Serenade_.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she palmed it away. The song had a yearning feel to it. Passionate, yet plaintive at the same time. _One more week_, she told herself. Hermione drifted toward the kitchen, and found Richard and Jane entwined in each other's arms, swaying as one body to the music.

Hermione watched for a moment, before averting her eyes, feeling as if she was intruding on a most intimate moment.

She hurriedly slipped away, back to the sitting room, where she used her wand to pull the bookcases away from the wall. She stooped for the pail of warm, soapy water, and took up her task again.

As she worked her way down the wall, Hermione came to realize something. She sat back on her heels, and contemplated a hairline crack in the plaster of the wall in front of her.

She really didn't have anything to do.

Hermione didn't have a job. Worse yet, no N.E.W.T.s. How would she earn a living? Would the examiners let her take her N.E.W.T.s, even if she hadn't technically finished school?

She huffed to herself. Even though worry was practically her middle name, there was no use worrying about when she was halfway around the world. There was one thing of which she was absolutely certain.

Hermione Granger was _not_ going to become an Auror.

She had had enough of that the past year. 'Past year, my arse,' she muttered. More like the past seven.

_Well, that takes care of what I don't want to do_,' she thought crossly. _It does, however, leave a whole lot of what I might want to do._ Maybe she could take a year off. It wasn't uncommon for Muggles to take a year between school and university. She threw the sponge back into the pail and began to massage her temples.

Hermione pulled her wand from her pocket, and stood up, nudging the pail out of the way with her toes. She levitated the heavy bookcases back against the wall, and set them down with hardly any noise at all. She picked up the pail and took it into the back garden, and began to pour the water around the base of the roses that climbed the side of the house. She idly wandered to the middle of garden, where a patch of sunshine warmed the grass.

Hermione sat cross-legged in the bright sunlight, tilting her face toward the sun, closing her eyes against the glare. She sat up, looking around carefully. Nobody else was around. Hermione surreptitiously slid her wand from her pocket and pointed it at the back door. _Accio_, she thought, and in seconds her diary landed in her outstretched hand.

She opened the diary, and uncapped the ball-point pen that lay in between the pages.

_­August 26, 1998 _

_It just occurred to me that I don't have anything to do when I get back. I didn't even make arrangements for anything. _

_It's a little scary not knowing what I'm going to do with myself._

_Aside from school, I don't know what I'm any good at. The only thing besides study that I truly enjoyed was in third year trying to help Hagrid's case for Buckbeak and S.P.E.W. _

_Maybe I can do something with that._

_I just know I can't sit by and watch all that pure-blood rubbish take over again. People like Remus shouldn't be forced to live in inhumane conditions. Certain werewolves aside, they should not be shunted aside. It's not like most werewolves were itching to become one in the first place. I wonder if Greyback would have turned out the way he did if wizards hadn't treated him like something worse than pond scum._

_Don't scoff, Ron. You saw what happened with Kreacher, when all we did was treat him with a bit of respect and decency._

_Maybe one day I can make things better for them._

_Do it for Remus. And Winky. Dobby, too._

_But if I ever become as pompous as Percy, you have my permission to smack some sense into me. _

_Hard, if need be._

* * *

'I almost envy her,' Harry commented. 

'Who? Ginny?' Ron gave Harry a look that clearly said he thought Harry was bonkers.

'Well, yeah.' Harry shrugged. 'It was the first home I ever had. I almost wish I could go back and finish.'

'You'd rather go back to all that homework?' Ron peered at Harry. 'You feeling all right, mate?'

'It would be the first year I wouldn't have to worry about Riddle rearing his ugly head in June,' Harry pointed out wryly.

Ron leaned against the wall, watching the steam from the Hogwarts Express billow in the clear September sunshine. 'McGonagall might've made an exception for you, had you asked,' he said.

'Maybe. But it would be like putting a twenty-five year-old in with a bunch of first years. It's better this way.'

Ginny came over to them, and threw her arms around Ron. 'This feels so weird!' she exclaimed. 'To go to school alone.' She took a step back. 'Do you realize I'm going to be the only Weasley at Hogwarts? For real, this time,' she amended.

'When was the last time there was only one of us?' Ron mused.

'I don't think you can count that high,' teased George. He pulled Ginny into a hug, nearly lifting her off her feet. 'Make us proud, Gin-Gin. Hogwarts bathroom fixtures for us all at Christmas, mind you.'

'Matching toilet seats for the whole family,' she promised solemnly.

'That's my baby sister.' George grinned at her.

Ginny pulled Harry aside, behind a pillar to say their good-byes before the train left. They reappeared a few minutes later, Ginny's once-neat ponytail now in disarray, and if it was at all possible, Harry's hair was even messier than usual. Before Ron or George could comment, Harry looked at them both with a smirk. 'Shut up,' he said without heat. 'I won't get to see her again until the first Hogsmeade weekend next month.'

Ginny scrambled on the train, leaning out the window. She waved until the train went around a curve and disappeared. Harry came to a stop on the edge of the platform, not realizing he'd run after the train. Ron and George flanked him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. 'She'll be all right,' assured George.

'I know.' Harry reached up to rub his scar. It wasn't hurting. Or burning. Or tingling. Or anything. It was as inert as the scars on his chest from the locket. 'I know,' he repeated. He turned to look at Ron. 'I just realized,' he began. 'It hasn't hurt since I woke up in the Forest.' He traced the scar with his fingertips.

* * *

Hermione stood next to her mother, trying to pack their clothes into the large suitcases on the bed. Jane was humming under her breath. 'But the dawn is breaking/It's early morn/The taxi's waiting/He's blowing his horn/Already I'm so lonesome I could cry…' 

Hermione looked at her from the corner of her eye. 'So kiss me and smile for me/Tell me that you'll wait for me/Hold me like you'll never let me go…'

Jane looked back at her and the two of them belted out the rest of the song. 'I'm leaving/On a jet plane/I don't know when I'll be back again/Oh, babe, I hate to go.' Jane grabbed Hermione's hands and danced around the room with her, like she had the night before Hermione took the train to school the first time, until the song was over.

Hermione collapsed on the bed, giggling. 'We didn't do that last year,' she said wistfully. 'I missed it.'

'I did, too.' Jane stuffed a jumper into the suitcase. 'I hope you do that with your children one day.'

Hermione grinned. 'I will.' She picked up a pile of socks and stuffed them into any open space in the suitcase next to Jane's. 'If we weren't travelling the Muggle way, I'd just shrink all this stuff.'

'That might look a bit odd at customs,' agreed Jane.

'Just a bit.'

Jane leaned on the suitcase to hold it closed so she could pull the zipper around the edge. 'Do you know who's going to pick us up at Heathrow?'

'No,' admitted Hermione. 'But it'll be somebody from the Ministry. They'll have transportation to get us home to Oxford. Everything's been taken care of.'

And so it was.

With an admirable amount of efficiency, Atticus MacNeill picked up Hermione, Richard, and Jane at the house the next morning, and drove them to the airport, helped them check in their luggage, and flew to Sydney with them. The next evening, with the same level of efficient competency, he helped them board the flight to Heathrow.

Hermione could barely contain her excitement at finally going home. Sleep was nearly impossible. She kept checking her watch, calculating how many hours it would be until the plane landed in London, then trying to figure out how many days it would be until she could get to the Burrow. _Let's see… Tomorrow's Friday, and it'll take a few days to get over the jet-lag… Maybe I can go next weekend?_ Hermione thought to herself, watching the clouds under the belly of the plane, as it flew over them.

Hermione wearily followed Jane and Richard through the customs line at Heathrow. _I thought Portkeys were a pain_, she thought. She was even more exhausted than she had been when she landed at Gavin MacAllister's feet in Canberra. She wanted the biggest cup of coffee she could find. Better yet, she wanted to find a bathtub full of coffee and swim in it.

'Hermione!' Someone was yelling her name. 'Hermione! Over here!'

She looked up and saw Percy waving his arms excitedly in the air. 'Mum, Dad, this way,' she said, perking up. They trudged to where Percy waited, beaming.

'Good to see you back, Hermione,' Percy said. 'We'll have you in Oxford in a bit.'

'Thanks, Percy. I'm glad to be back.' She followed in silence for a moment. 'Percy?'

'Yes?'

'If I give you a letter for Ron, can you owl it over for me?'

'It would be my pleasure.'

'Thank you, Percy. And thank Shacklebolt for all of this, too.'

She got into a Ministry car, recognizing the small flag on the front of the car. They drove off, and Hermione dug in her knapsack, looking for the diary. She ripped a few pages out of the back, and began to scribble a letter to Ron. The only problem was, she kept dozing off, and losing her train of thought.

When the car pulled to a stop in front of the house, Hermione stuffed a wad of crumpled paper into Percy's hand. 'Tell him, see him soon,' she slurred, asleep on her feet.

* * *

Ron was trying not to pace the kitchen. He had gotten a note from Hermione last week. She was back in England, at her parents' house. Percy had told him at Sunday's lunch that she was pretty tired when he picked Hermione and her parents up last Thursday. The letter he'd received was long and rambling, and Ron wasn't sure, but he thought she might be coming over today. The handwriting on the letter was so messy it took both him and Harry squinting at it in bright sunlight to decipher what it said. 

It was pouring rain outside today. Dark and dreary as the afternoon shifted into night. Harry came into the warm kitchen, balancing Teddy on his hip. Normally, he would have taken Teddy back to Andromeda's by now, but she had agreed that morning to let Harry have Teddy until tomorrow afternoon. He sat at the table, and settled Teddy into a more comfortable position. 'Hey Ron, could you hand me that bottle over there?'

Ron glanced at the counter, and picked up the bottle, passing it off to Harry. Harry crooned to the baby as he fed him. 'Do you think she meant today?' Ron asked, a faint note of anxiety in his voice.

'Hermione? I think so.'

George poked his head into the kitchen. 'Are you still waiting?'

'Shut up, George.' Ron stopped pacing and stood at the window, trying to see in the murky dark. A loud ­_crack_ came from beyond the fence around the back garden. Ron and Harry exchanged looks. Harry rose from his place at the table, and silently handed Teddy to George. He jerked a thumb toward the front of the house, while Ron's hand rested on the doorknob of the back door. Nearly simultaneously, they pulled their wands from back pockets and held them aloft.

'You two are mental,' muttered George, who was making faces at Teddy, trying to make him laugh.

Ron ignored George's remark, but Harry snorted. 'They're still out there, you know,' he said softly, his voice even. Ron nodded, affirming what Harry said. Harry had come home a few days ago so pale that Molly feared he would have another round of nightmares. Before he and Ron went to sleep, Harry confessed in the darkness there were sill some of Riddle's supporters in hiding. Neither one of them was willing to take that chance.

Ron opened the door enough to slip outside, and closed it behind him. He squinted suspiciously into the rainy night. '_Lumos_,' he whispered, holding the wand up.

'Ron?' It came from the other side of the gate.

Ron ran to the gate. 'Mione?' She opened the gate and stepped through, letting her knapsack hit the ground with a _splat_. Ron muttered, '­_Nox_,' and stuffed his wand back into his jeans pocket.

They stood facing each other, almost not breathing, ignoring the rain sluicing down their bodies. Ron reached out and rested his hand against her cheek. She turned her head, and kissed the palm of his hand. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her.

'It's about time you came home,' he said, before kissing her. She tasted of rain and tea.

Hermione broke the kiss. 'I agree.'

Ron pulled her back into a kiss, lifting her off her feet. He overbalanced and fell backwards, Hermione landing on his chest. Ron mentally shrugged, and wound his hands into Hermione's wet hair, and began to make up for lost time.

* * *

A/N: Yay! She's back! It's not over yet... they still have some... uh... catching up to do. koff And they're going to exchange their diaries. :) The lyrics of 'Leaving on a Jet Plane' are by John Denver and the version sung by Hermione and Jane is the one by Peter, Paul, and Mary. 


	8. Turn the Page

'_It's about time you came home,' he said, before kissing her. She tasted of rain and tea._

_Hermione broke the kiss. 'I agree.'_

_Ron pulled her back into a kiss, lifting her off her feet. He overbalanced and fell backwards, Hermione landing on his chest. Ron mentally shrugged, and wound his hands into Hermione's wet hair, and began to make up for lost time._

* * *

Ron rolled Hermione over, ignoring her slight squeak of surprise. 'I missed you,' she murmured against his lips.

'I missed you, too,' he admitted, gasping as her hands slipped under the hem of his untucked shirt and into the back of his jeans. 'I missed that, too.' He kissed the tip of her nose.

Hermione grinned and wound her fingers into his hair, pulling his face back down. 'So did I.'

Ron came up for air. 'You smell different,' he informed her.

'Bad different?'

'No.' Ron nuzzled the skin under Hermione's jaw. 'Just different.' He bent his head to kiss her again. 'You taste different, too.'

'Blame Percy. He's the one that stocked the kitchen for us. Different brand of tea, but Mum won't just get rid of it and buy the usual.'

'I'll have a word with him at lunch tomorrow,' he promised, his lips grazing the skin of her collarbone, giving her a hard, sucking kiss at the base of her neck.

'Are you two going to come inside, or stay out here snogging all night?' inquired an amused voice above them. Ron and Hermione looked up guiltily to see Harry standing over them, his wand alit.

'Erm…' Even in the dim light from Harry's wand, he could see Ron blush.

Hermione reached up to brush Ron's now soaking wet hair from his eyes. 'We'll go inside,' she said, smiling at Ron.

Ron scrambled up, helped Hermione to her feet, and picked up her knapsack.

The three of them ran into the kitchen, the door slamming behind them, and Hermione turned around, throwing her arms around Harry. 'Hi,' she said, then pulled back so she could look him in the eyes. 'How are you?'

'Better.' Harry shrugged. 'Good days, bad days…' He self-consciously squeezed the water from his shirt. Then with a quick look at Ron, bent to gently kiss Hermione on the forehead.

'Hey, now,' Ron protested, with a twinkle in his eyes.

'What? I can't kiss my sister hello these days?' Harry demanded jokingly.

Hermione blinked back sudden tears. 'Really?' she whispered.

Harry looked down at her, before gathering Hermione into a hug. 'Yeah. Really.'

'Why are the two of you soaking wet? Go change into something dry so you don't catch cold,' ordered Molly, coming into the kitchen. She hadn't seen Hermione yet. Ron and Harry stood in front of her, blocking her from Molly's view.

'We heard something outside, Mum,' piped up Ron.

'We went to check it out,' added Harry.

'Probably just thunder,' Molly said, stirring a pot of stew on the stove.

'Thunder? Well, maybe. She can be pretty loud when she wants to be,' said Ron, throwing a grin at Hermione over his shoulder.

'She?' Molly turned around, hands on her hips. 'What are you two on about?'

Ron reached back and pulled Hermione forward. 'Guess who's home,' he said gleefully.

'Hermione,' breathed Molly. 'Arthur! Arthur! She's home!' Molly called, before she enfolded Hermione into a hug. 'Oh, dear. Why are you soaking wet? And how on earth did you get leaves in your hair?' Before Hermione could answer, Molly was pushing Hermione toward the stairs. 'Go on up to Ginny's room, dear and put something dry on.' She looked at Ron and Harry, both dripping on the kitchen floor. 'The two of you as well. And don't dawdle. Dinner will be ready soon.'

Harry lightly ran up the stairs to the attic, while Ron and Hermione followed more slowly. 'So I brought my diary with me,' Hermione said.

'Switch later?'

'All right.'

'My room. After everyone's gone to sleep.' Ron cupped Hermione's head in a hand, as he kissed her, softly, sweetly.

'Mmmm-hmmmm,' she agreed, head spinning.

They parted when they heard a discreet cough from the stairs above them. 'Keep on like that, and you won't need dry clothes,' Harry said dryly, as he stopped on the landing by Ginny's room. 'Oh, and while I'm here…' He lightly punched Ron on the shoulder. 'That's for pawing my sister. And if you hurt her…' Harry paused menacingly. 'I know someone who can teach me a good Bat-Bogey Hex.' He looked at Hermione, who was blushing as hard as any Weasley by now. 'It's about time you came home,' Harry said, starting to go back down the stairs. 'He was starting to droop like a wilted lily or something.'

Ron caught Hermione's eye. She was giving him a look. 'What?' he asked.

'Nothing.' She grinned. 'Go get dressed,' she said, taking her knapsack from his hand. She slowly closed the door and leaned against it, taking a moment to catch her breath. Hermione opened the knapsack, and quickly pulled out a dry pair of jeans and a jumper. She peeled off her wet clothing, and dressed, draping her wet clothes over the chair at Ginny's desk, so she could perform a Drying charm on them. She brushed and dried her hair, then pulled a pair of socks on her bare feet, and padded to the kitchen.

Ron was helping Molly dish up dinner. The sight made Hermione stop in her tracks. 'Who are you?' she asked, her mouth open.

'I can cook, you know,' he said.

'Actually, no. I don't.'

'Recent development,' George said from his place at the table, unwinding Teddy's fat fingers from his hair. 'He hasn't poisoned anyone yet.'

'He's not bad,' Harry said, taking Teddy from George, dodging Teddy's attempts to grab his glasses.

Ron set a basket of bread on the table. 'Thanks for the support, guys.'

'Anytime.' George grinned, but it still had a tinge of sadness behind it.

Arthur came in from the sitting room, his nose buried in a Muggle refrigerator manual. 'Molly, who did you say was home?'

'Hello, Mr. Wea – _Arthur_.' Hermione waved from her chair.

Arthur smiled. 'Oh, Hermione.' He planted a kiss on top of her head. 'Good to see you, dear.' He turned a page of the manual. 'How do these things work?'

'It's like a Cooling charm, but with electricity,' she said.

'Oh, electricksity,' Arthur said, nodding sagely.

Ron put a bowl of stew in front of Hermione, and slid into the seat next to hers. She stirred it a few times with a spoon, and Ron rolled his eyes and leaned over to whisper in her ear. 'It's okay. I didn't put anything funny in there.'

Hermione's startled gaze flew up to meet Ron's amused blue eyes. 'You did this?'

'Mostly.'

She cautiously tasted what was on her own spoon. 'It's good. Really good.'

'Told you,' Ron said smugly.

* * *

Hermione sat on Ginny's bed, wrapped in her dressing gown, her diary in her hands. Molly and Arthur were usually in bed by ten-thirty. Harry had gone to bed when he put Teddy down for the night. George was still awake. He was at the table with Ron discussing a few ideas for the shop.

She still couldn't believe Ron was working at the shop with George. Not that she minded, after seeing Fred and George in action two years ago, but she hadn't thought George would make Ron a part of it.

Hermione checked her watch and began to pace, tracing a path around the small rug in front of Ginny's bed. She stilled when she heard the stairs creak softly, and George and Ron's baritone whispers. Hermione checked the time on her watch. _I'll give him ten minutes,_ she thought. She sat nervously on the edge of the bed, and opened the diary. She'd written in it almost every day she'd been in Australia.

The ticking of her watch sounded unnaturally loud in the small bedroom.

Hermione looked out the window, after checking her watch for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last two minutes.

It was still raining.

Finally, the ten minutes were up, and Hermione silently crept up the stairs to the attic. And Ron.

She pushed open the door, and closed it behind her. Ron was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, clad only in a pair of boxers. He looked up from his own diary. 'Hi,' he said softly, a smile lighting up his face.

'Hi,' she replied.

Ron unfolded himself from the bed, and reached for Hermione's hand. He pulled her closer, and frowned at her dressing gown. Ron's hands came to rest on the sash, silently asking permission to untie it. She nodded her assent, and Ron slowly untied the sash, his hands sliding up to Hermione's shoulders, and pushed the dressing gown to the floor, his eyes never wavering from hers. Her diary fell to the floor with a papery thump.

He glanced down, distracted by the sound. He blinked a few times. 'Is that what I think it is?'

'Yeah,' Hermione giggled. 'I came up here after dinner that evening and put it in my handbag.'

'You took it with you to Australia?' Ron asked in amazement.

'Yep. I slept in it. Almost every night,' she confessed.

'Why would you do something like that, you daft hen?'

'It smelled like you. For the first few days anyway. It reminded me of you. And after sleeping with you for the last year, it was weird to sleep without you.'

Ron drew Hermione to the bed and pulled her down with him, settling her so her back rested against his chest. 'I looked everywhere for that bloody shirt,' he chided.

'Sorry.'

'Don't be.' Ron's fingers traced patterns up Hermione's leg, coming as far as the edge of her knickers. _Merlin, Ron, what are you trying to do? She just got back._ Ron started trying to create a mental catalog of every item in the shop they could safely ship to Hogwarts.

Hermione shivered. She could feel the heat of Ron's body through the thin cotton of the t-shirt. She glanced down. _It wouldn't be hard to slip a hand through his boxers…_ She squeezed her eyes shut. _You just got back, Granger. Give him some time to get used to you again!_

'Mione?'

'Hmmmm?'

'Do you want to trade diaries now?' Ron tried to keep his voice from cracking under the strain of trying very hard to not to pull the t-shirt from Hermione's body. His hands roamed over the contours of her, skimming over her like he'd done so often in his dreams.

'Not particularly,' she said huskily.

'What do you want to do?'

'Erm…' Hermione blushed, her hand sliding just inside the leg of his boxers.

Ron drew in a deep breath. 'You're joking.'

'No.'

'But – I thought – Girls…' Ron sputtered. 'I mean, I know _I_ think about it a lot, but girls…' He gestured helplessly.

'We do.'

'Oh.'

Hermione turned so she faced Ron. 'We don't have to right this second.'

'Right.' The blood was slowly draining from Ron's head. 'But what if I want to?'

Hermione sighed in relief. 'Thank God, because I do, too.' When Ron looked at her with a raised eyebrow, she snorted. 'A girl has needs, Ron.'

Ron reached into the drawer of his night table. 'Good thing I went to get these yesterday,' he said, pulling a condom out. 'Constant vigilance.'

Hermione smirked at him. 'Ron?'

'Yeah?'

'Shut up and kiss me already.'

* * *

Ron glanced up from Hermione's diary. Her bare foot was propped on his chest. He ran his thumb lightly down the sole of her foot. Her foot twitched, and he experimentally did it again. 'That tickles,' she said, not looking up from his diary.

'You're ticklish?'

'A little,' Hermione admitted sheepishly. Ron's fingertips danced over the foot resting on his chest. She looked up from her position at the foot of the bed. I can go read this in Ginny's room,' she said pointedly, tugging her ankle from Ron's grasp.

He let go, grinning at her. 'No, that's all right.'

'You really did start learning how to cook.'

'Always the tone of surprise,' he said with a smirk. 'Yeah. Right after you left. It was a good distraction.'

'Can you do other things besides stew?'

'Of course I can!' Ron said indignantly. 'Just came easily for me,' he said shrugging. 'Like flying is for Harry or reading for you.'

'I didn't even think about using the telephone,' Hermione said sadly, gesturing toward a page in the middle of Ron's diary.

Ron laughed. 'Not surprising, given my previous experience.' He turned a page thoughtfully. 'You eavesdropped on the Australian Minister?'

'Um. Yeah.'

'Her assistant didn't try anything, did he?' Ron asked his eyes narrowing.

'No.' Hermione giggled. 'After she warned him off me, he wouldn't even look at me.' She lost the battle to keep from laughing out loud. 'She's right, though. I would have hexed his balls off.'

Ron's hand darted to cover his own. 'Remind me not to take the mickey out of you when you're in a bad mood.'

'Good advice,' she murmured. She closed Ron's diary. 'When did he stop having nightmares?'

'Who said he stopped?' Ron twisted the strap that held Hermione's diary closed. 'They're just not every night anymore.'

She looked around the room. It wasn't quite as orange as it used to be. 'The camp bed wasn't here before.'

'Harry started sleeping in here before his birthday. He's only in Bill's room tonight because of Teddy.'

Hermione rolled over onto her back. 'So much changed when I was gone.'

'And so much stayed the same.'

Hermione fingered the diary resting on her stomach. 'I can't believe she slapped him,' she said softly.

Ron didn't need to ask who she meant. 'I don't think she did either.' He was quiet for a moment. 'Harry knows,' he said suddenly.

Hermione eyed him. 'Knows what?'

'This,' Ron mumbled, making a gesture encompassing the two of them and his bed.

'Oh.' Hermione blushed. 'So does my mum,' she said to the cover of the diary.

Ron sat up, the sheet falling in folds to his hips. 'You told your mum?' he asked in a scandalized whisper. 'Oh Merlin, Hermione.'

'She's…' Hermione searched for an appropriate word. 'Not fine with it really, but she understands. And as long as we're taking precautions.'

Ron flipped the diary open. He seemed to remember skimming over something about that. 'I can't believe you told your mum,' he muttered as he found the page in the diary. He read the page this time, taking his time. 'Do you mean it?' His quiet voice carried in the silence. 'Having a life with me?'

'Yes.'

'Seriously?'

'Yes.'

Ron looked down at the words in front of him. He allowed himself to think about what she meant by a normal life. _Normal… We could get married; have a couple of kids…_ Ron could picture it, too. A little girl with Hermione's wide brown eyes, a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, and a riot of strawberry curls. _Maybe one day soon_, he thought, a blunt-tipped finger tracing over the words.

He looked up. Hermione was asleep. Ron gently took his diary from her slack hands, and put it on the night table, then put hers on top of it. They could finish them tomorrow. He eased out of bed, and picked up the quilt off the floor. Ron spread it over Hermione, then crawled into the bed next to her.

* * *

A buzzing sound filled Hermione's ears. 'Uhhhhhhhhnnnnnn,' she groaned, and tried to burrow back into the warm quilts.

'Mione, you have to go back to Ginny's room.' Ron's husky voice was muffled by the pillow she had pulled over her head.

'Don't want to,' she whined, arching against Ron.

Ron let out a strangled groan. Neither of them had put anything on again last night before they began to read the diaries. 'Mione, please, don't do that again,' he begged. 'Not unless you want us to get caught.'

'I'll be quiet,' she said hazily. 'So quiet.'

'It's not you I'm worried about,' Ron growled.

'What time is it?'

'Five.'

Hermione wrapped her arms around Ron's waist. 'I like naked Ron,' she purred.

Ron blinked. 'Hermione!' he whispered. 'Wake up.'

Hermione frowned slightly. 'I am awake, Ronald.'

'I don't know about you, hen, but I don't want to be here if Mum finds us, naked, in my bed, having obviously spent the night doing what we did. She'll go spare.'

'Thirty more minutes,' Hermione begged.

Ron looked down at her. Hermione was still warm and pliable with sleep, and her hair was spread over his pillow. 'I can't promise we'll actually sleep,' he said.

True to his word, Ron helped Hermione into her dressing gown, and escorted her back down to Ginny's room. They managed to avoid the creakiest of the stairs. 'Why can't we put a Silencing charm on them?' wondered Hermione.

'You can't,' Ron said simply. 'Mum and Dad put some sort of charm on them when Bill was fourteen. We can't do anything to them to make them quieter.'

'We'll have to remember that,' Hermione said. They came to a stop at Ginny's bedroom. 'I'll see you in a bit,' she whispered. She slipped into Ginny's room, and closed the door. Hermione looked at the clock and sighed. She had a couple of hours to get some sleep.

Hermione pulled on her pajamas and crawled into bed. She couldn't sleep. Even as tired as she was, she hummed with restlessness. Hermione had slept some the night before, but she and Ron had spent a good portion of the night wide-awake, doing a host of other things besides sleeping.

Flashes of what he'd written in his diary paraded through her mind.

His not wanting to be an Auror, for one. Hermione knew it was something he had wanted since their fourth year, and now he'd been given the chance to be one, even without N.E.W.T.s, he'd turned it down. She knew why she had sent Shacklebolt a firm 'no' to his invitation to join the Aurors, but she never dreamed Ron felt the same way.

Going into the shop with George. Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about that. While the amount of advanced magic the twins used in their products was impressive, she wasn't certain it was what Ron would be happy doing. She made a mental note to talk to Ron about it. If he could reassure her he was in the shop for his own purposes, and not to try and take Fred's place, she would be satisfied.

Finding out how Ron cried as a child. Hermione smiled in the dark. It was something he would never admit to her in person.

How uncomfortable he was with the idea of Harry and Ginny doing something more than snogging. Hermione giggled softly. It was rather hypocritical, really, considering they'd spent most of the night entwined around each other. But from what Ron written in the diary, Harry wasn't really comfortable with the idea of her and Ron doing anything beyond kissing. 'Boys,' she said wryly.

Harry's realization his scar no longer hurt.

Percy and his Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle boxers. Hermione smiled. She'd never be able to look at Percy again with a straight face.

George remembering how to laugh. And that it was Fred who helped.

The one line she remembered clearly was one of the last entries he'd written. Begging her to come back, nearly praying she hadn't forgotten him.

Hermione lay staring at the ceiling, before she gave up trying to sleep and stole downstairs to make some tea. She stopped short in the doorway. 'Oh!' Ron was already at the sink, filling the teakettle. 'I couldn't sleep,' she confessed.

'I couldn't, either.'

Ron told her to sit down, and she watched him make a pot of tea and a plate of toast. He sat in the chair next to hers, levitating the cups, teapot, and plate of toast to the table. Molly came into the kitchen a few minutes later. They didn't hear her.

Molly took the time to examine them closely, without their noticing. There was something different about the way they sat near each other, bodies instinctively curving to accommodate each other. Their hands rested on the table, fingers entwined. It looked innocent enough, but Molly saw something in the way Ron's thumb rubbed the underside of Hermione's wrist. The way Hermione's head rested on Ron's shoulder, and how his lips brushed over her temple.

When Ron left the kitchen to dress for the day, Molly leaned across the table. 'Hermione?'

'Yes?'

'I didn't set a curfew for Harry and Ginny because they were together all night,' Molly whispered conspiratorially.

'Oh?' Hermione's eyebrow lifted.

'I did it because they stayed outside all night.' Molly sat back and sipped her tea. 'Not that I'm giving you permission, mind you.' She shrugged. 'But both of you are of age, and Merlin knows you two were meant for each other.'

'Oh,' Hermione breathed.

'Just…' Molly hesitated. 'Make sure you take care of things, Hermione. Arthur and I are too young to be grandparents.'

* * *

A/N: I've never been able to buy the idea that Molly's some sort of Puritan about sex, so while she may not particularly like the idea of Ron and Hermione shagging, she's a realist and a pragmatist, if nothing else. If you've read _Nightdress_, Ron doesn't know Molly knows. I like the idea of Hermione 'forgetting' to let Ron in on it. :) Kinda diabolical, but hey, we've all got quirks. lol! And Ron would probably faint from shock if he realized Molly wasn't going to slap chastity belts on them all.

Someone pointed out to me that it's Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle, so I've fixed it in the last chapter, and it's correct here.


	9. Front Page News

'_Just…' Molly hesitated. 'Make sure you take care of things, Hermione. Arthur and I are too young to be grandparents.'_

Hermione gasped, then clapped a hand over her mouth, to stifle the nervous giggle that bubbled to the surface. She gaped at Molly in astonishment. First _her_ mother, and now Molly. What was the world coming to? Molly snorted softly at the shock on Hermione's face. 'I'm not entirely naïve about you lot,' she stated. Molly smiled wistfully. 'I was once your age, too, you know. And well…' Molly felt a flush creep up her own cheeks. 'I wasn't much older than you when Bill was born. And Arthur and I hadn't been married that long.'

Hermione felt her mouth drop open as she calculated the months between Molly and Arthur's wedding anniversary and Bill's birthday. Ron had patiently drilled her in his family tree when they stayed at Grimmauld Place last year and she could pluck the dates from her memory on command as surely as she could do the same for her own family. 'I don't think you need to worry about that,' Hermione said faintly.

An owl flew to the window, and tapped on the glass. Molly, grateful for the distraction, went to open the window, and took the Sunday _Prophet_ from the large barn owl. She opened the paper and was greeted with a front-page spread of Ron and Hermione's rain-soaked reunion from last night.

A headline blared, 'Golden Trio Torn Apart? Rita Skeeter has the exclusive scoop.'

Molly looked at Hermione over the top of the paper. 'Forgot to close the gate, did you?' she asked, turning the paper around to show Hermione.

'The wards!' Hermione breathed, letting her head fall against the back of the chair. She had forgotten in the intensity of the moment last night, that if the garden gate was open, it acted like a gap in the wards that surrounded the Burrow, effectively shielding them from the intrusion of reporters. She reached for the paper, and groaned. It didn't help that the large photograph showed Harry walking to the back from the front garden, and was visible in the background, before flicking his wand at the gate, making it swing shut.

Hermione scanned the article quickly, muttering, 'That _cow_!' under her breath the entire time.

­'It appears as if the famed Golden Trio has been ripped apart due to a scandalous affair between two of its members – Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, _writes Rita Skeeter in an exclusive story for the Daily Prophet_. Last night, Hermione Granger made a sudden reappearance after her equally sudden disappearance nearly two months ago. Where has she been? 'I can say with complete certainty that Miss Granger left the country and only just returned last week,' confirmed an anonymous Ministry source.

So where did Miss Granger go? Sources say that Miss Granger went to Australia, _alone_, for an extended holiday, to recuperate from injuries suffered during the war against You-Know-Who.

Has discord developed between the infamously tight Trio? This reporter was outside the Weasley home when Miss Granger made her unexpected appearance. She was greeted by none other than Mr. Weasley for a rather _passionate_ encounter, while Harry Potter could only watch in helpless resignation.

Will Miss Granger be the one to truly break Mr. Potter's heart?

Only time will tell.'

Hermione's hands clutched convulsively on the paper. 'I _hate_ her,' she said vehemently. She made to chuck it into the fire, but stopped as a _pop_ came from the back garden.

Percy ran inside the kitchen, clutching his own copy of the paper. He stopped long enough to take in Hermione's bright red face, and the paper crumpled in her hand. 'Oh, so you've seen it already.' He tossed his paper into the fire. 'I was coming to warn you.' He sat at the table and reached for the last piece of toast. 'I do wish Kingsley could put a muzzle on that woman,' he muttered darkly.

'Put a muzzle on who?' George ambled into the kitchen, still dressed in his pajamas, hair sticking up on one side.

'Rita Skeeter,' mumbled Hermione, thrusting the paper at George, whose eyes widened at the photograph.

'Oh, erm… Well…' George coughed a few times, as if he were trying to clear a particularly large frog from his throat. He looked at the photograph again, and a ginger eyebrow rose slowly as he gave Hermione a frankly appraising look. 'Always the quiet ones,' he said, a grin twitching at his lips.

'It's not funny,' Hermione informed him loftily.

'What's not funny?' Harry came in, with an alert Teddy on his hip. He took the bottle Molly handed him, and sat in the nearest chair. Teddy reached for the bottle, and began to thirstily drink the milk inside.

'This.' George slid the paper across the table so Harry could see it.

'Oh,_ honestly_!' Hermione stomped out of the kitchen with a huff.

'That's a rather tired angle,' Harry commented dryly. 'She did that one my fourth year.' He chuckled and nuzzled Teddy's turquoise hair. 'She's a silly old woman, Teddy,' he informed his godson. 'Never pay attention to a single word she says.'

'Remember that, Teddy, my boy,' said George. 'It's very good advice.'

'What's put Mione's knickers in a twist?' Ron asked bewildered as he joined them in the kitchen. 'I just saw her on the stairs and she was in a right state. She just snarled, "That bloody cow," and slammed the door in my face.' Ron sat next to Harry. 'She was fine twenty minutes ago,' he said helplessly.

'Rita Skeeter,' sighed Percy. He nudged the paper toward Ron.

Ron went pale, then his ears began to slowly built up to a genuine Weasley blaze. 'Sod a duck,' he breathed.

'Ronald!' Molly smacked Ron on the back of his head. 'Language!'

'Ow!' Ron rubbed his head. 'Mum! That hurt,' he sulked. Ron rested his elbow on the table, and propped his head in his hand. 'I'll be having a word with them tomorrow. Shouldn't intrude on people's private lives.' Ron scowled at the paper.

'Oh, good morning, Weasleys!' Arthur's bright tone warmed the kitchen. He stopped to babble nonsense to Teddy, who let the bottle's nipple fall out of his mouth to reply in kind with gurgles, the turquoise intensifying a few shades. Arthur looked around the room, noticing the varied expressions on the faces of his family. They ranged from outright amusement on George's end to indignant rage on Ron's. 'What's going on?' he asked.

'Should we?' Percy asked, nudging George.

'Might as well. He'll find out sooner or later.' George handed Arthur the paper.

Curiously, Arthur's gaze dropped down to the paper his son gave him. 'Oh. My.' Arthur blinked a few times. He adjusted his glasses, and squinted at the photograph. 'Well, then.' Arthur cleared his throat. 'Is that all?' he asked idly, as if it were in the normal course of things to find photographs of his youngest son snogging his girlfriend plastered on the front page of the Sunday newspaper. 'Must be a slow news day, if that's all they can find to print on the front page.'

'But Dad,' Ron blurted, aghast. 'She's printed lies about Hermione!'

'Ron, this _is_ Rita Skeeter we're talking about. Most sensible people know she's not exactly a reliable source of news,' Arthur told Ron gently. 'In a few days' time, it'll be lining most people's owl perches.' Arthur picked up the paper and tore the front page off. He casually went to Errol's perch, and spread the paper, facedown on it. He patted Ron on the back comfortingly and lifted the lid off the teapot and peered inside hopefully, checking the amount of tea in the pot. 'Well, this won't do,' he said to himself, tapping the teapot with his wand. In an instant, fragrant steam rose from the spout. 'That's more like it,' he said, Summoning a cup from the cupboard.

Arthur leaned back, sipping his tea. Ron's mouth worked like a stunned fish for several moments, before he jabbed his wand at a cupboard and a frying pan landed on the stove with a clatter. 'Staying for breakfast, Percy?' Ron asked as he began to fry sausages.

Percy looked up, a momentary flash of shock on his face. 'I, uh, if you don't… That is, I could…'

George snickered, but it was with genuine humor that lacked the edge of all the other times he'd laughed at Percy. 'A simple yes or no will do, Perce,' he sniggered. 'And Ron really is quite good. He's been making breakfast on Sunday mornings for a month now.'

Percy straightened his glasses a few times. He looked at Ron, or rather the back of Ron's head, as Ron was busy at the stove. Percy tilted his head to the side, looking for the betraying redness that signified Ron's anger. It wasn't there. He looked back at George, whose expression remained neutral. He adjusted his glasses once again, before saying, 'Yes, I'll stay.'

* * *

When Hermione came back down to the kitchen, George grinned and let out a piercing wolf-whistle. Hermione impaled him with a look as she sat at the table. 'Good thing for you, I'm going back to my parents' later. Otherwise, I'd sleep with an eye open, if I were you,' she said dispassionately, making a show of polishing her wand. George's smile grew wider. Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, surprised at herself. A year ago, she wouldn't have said anything like that. 

Ron set a platter of bacon on the table. 'Very mature,' he commented.

'So, Hermione, now that you're back, what do you want to do with yourself?' asked Percy.

Hermione spread marmalade on her toast. 'I hadn't thought about it, really.'

'Yes, you have,' insisted Ron.

Hermione turned to him. 'You read that?' she asked incredulously.

'Again with the tone of surprise,' Ron said, rolling his eyes. 'Yes, I read it. You _were_ there,' he pointed out.

'Read what?' Harry asked curiously.

'Nothing,' muttered Ron, flushing. He looked at Hermione. 'Tell him, hen,' he said softly.

'It's just an idea, Ron.'

'It's a good one,' he told her.

Hermione sighed. 'I want to work with magical creatures.' She looked at Harry from the corner of her eye. 'Werewolves, centaurs. House-elves.' She shrugged. 'But I don't have N.E.W.T.s, so I'm not sure if I can do that right away.'

'That's it?' guffawed George. 'By the way you were acting; I thought you were thinking about becoming the new welcome witch for St. Mungo's.'

'Considering Kingsley offered all three of you jobs as Aurors without N.E.W.T.s, I hardly see what the issue would be for you to work in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.' Percy looked up from his plate. 'All you have to do is come see Kingsley. He'll get it set up for you.'

Hermione uncertainly twirled a lock of hair around her finger. 'Are you sure? It's just…' She squirmed uncomfortably. 'It feels like preferential treatment.'

'It's not.' Arthur poured a glass of orange juice for himself. 'All the students from your year are in the exact same position you're in. Kingsley sent out letters to everyone from your year, not just you three.'

'It actually hasn't been a bad thing,' put in Percy. 'It's making a lot of departments use alternate ways to find good workers, besides N.E.W.T.s.'

George choked on a bit of egg. 'Who are you and what in Merlin's name have you done with Percy?'

Percy swiped the last piece of toast from under George's hand. 'Occasionally, I do wash the starch from my pants,' he said, as he deliberately took a large bite of the toast.

'So what would you like to do, Hermione, dear?' Molly asked hastily, trying to change the subject from Percy's pants.

'Build the Centaur Liaison Office into something real, and not a joke. Make up regulations for the humane treatment of house-elves. Repeal the laws that make it impossible for werewolves to live as part of society,' Hermione said promptly.

'I thought you said you hadn't thought about it,' Harry said sardonically.

'Oh, well, I just hadn't planned anything out, really.' Hermione toyed with a bit of egg on her plate.

'Come to the Minister's office any time you want, Hermione,' Percy said gravely. 'I'll get started on your paperwork first thing in the morning.'

'Thanks, Percy.' Hermione felt her pulse begin to hammer in her chest. The mere idea of going into the Ministry brought up all sorts of memories she'd rather not remember. 'I'll… I'll let you know, all right?'

Percy nodded and the rest of the family went back to eating breakfast. Ron noticed the fine tremor that ran through Hermione's hand, as she laid her fork down. He casually laid a hand on her wrist, not at all surprised to feel her pulse racing under his fingers. Ron's hand covered Hermione's and gently squeezed it.

* * *

The rain from the day before had stopped and the sun deigned to make an appearance. After lunch, Ron ran up to the attic to fetch the diaries from his night table. As much as he had wanted to read Hermione's diary last night, they had been a bit preoccupied with other things. He met Hermione in the back garden. She smiled and took his hand. They headed down to the end of the paddock to an unspoken destination. They didn't need to say it. 

Ron followed Hermione up the ladder. She was sitting on a cushion, with her arms around her knees. 'You don't want to go to the Ministry,' Ron told her bluntly.

'No,' she admitted. 'Not yet.'

'It still gives me the willies, too.'

'It does?'

'Yeah.' Ron sat next to Hermione, mimicking her pose. 'I keep seeing that day we went in to get the locket.' He put an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her against him. 'I won't even go in to see Dad.'

'I do want to work there,' Hermione asserted. 'I don't see how Harry goes there every day,' she said with a shudder.

'I don't either.' Ron closed his eyes. 'I asked him his first week how he did it. He said it was like everything else he's done. Because he has to.'

'I just need some time,' Hermione sighed. He leaned into Ron. 'Are you all right? With working at the shop, I mean?'

'Why wouldn't I be?'

Hermione picked up Ron's diary and slowly turned the pages until she came to the entry where Ron spoke about the shop. 'I just want to make sure you're doing it because you want to, and not out of some sense of guilt or something.'

'I'm there because I want to be, hen,' Ron said firmly. 'Really. I'd had enough with the whole Auror thing. This is as far away from that as I can get. And George is really good with me. Doesn't shout or make me feel like an idiot if it takes me a few tries to get it right. Said he and Fred were never perfect the first try, anyway.' Ron brushed a kiss across Hermione's lips. 'Trust me. I'm just doing grunt work right now. But I'm learning.'

'I still can't believe you told Harry. About _that_ afternoon.' Hermione blushed.

'Hey, he brought it up,' Ron said defensively. 'I told him a good place to talk with Ginny would be here, and _he's_ the one whose mind jumped to conclusions.'

'Makes you wonder where his mind is,' Hermione smirked.

'I'd rather not.'

'Did you really think I'd never come back?'

Ron stiffened a bit. 'Not really. I mean, I didn't think you'd stay in Australia, but I…' He shrugged. 'I wasn't sure you'd come back to me.'

'Why wouldn't I?' Hermione pulled away slightly.

'I don't know!' Ron pushed himself to his feet and began to pace. 'Maybe with some time and space, you might think you made a horrible mistake and was only going to come back to tell me you just wanted to be friends.'

'Ron, I…' Hermione stood and stepped in the middle of Ron's path. 'I meant what I said. That I wanted to have a nice, normal life with you. I'm sorry it took so long to get back. I hated that I had to stay there for nearly two months. I didn't think it through. I just thought, "Oh, well, then, I'll go restore my parents' memories, and we'll be back in Oxford within a week".' Hermione aimed a kick at one of the cushions. 'Somehow, it didn't occur to me, that they would have lives, and I was going to have to uproot them.'

She began to pace around the confines of the tree house. 'I hated every day I was in Australia,' Hermione confessed in a whisper. 'I love my parents, but they're not my home anymore. You are.' She stood directly across from him. 'The only thing I wanted, after that day I reversed the memory charm on my parents was to come home.'

Ron stared at her for a moment. 'How is it you can make me feel like the most enormous prat in the world, and love you for it?' Ron collapsed back onto the cushion. 'Wait, don't answer that.' He rooted around in a box, and found a Self-Inking Quill. He opened up his diary to a blank page.

_13 September 1998_

_I'm not very good with words. You know that. I've lost count of the number of letters I've tried to write to you and ended up tearing into tiny pieces, throwing in the fire, or feeding Ginny's Pygmy Puff._

_I missed you so much I couldn't sleep. I missed talking to you. I missed seeing you sit next to me at meals._

_This is my home. It's where I grew up. I can point to the exact spot where I was sitting when Fred turned my teddy bear into a spider when I was three. Or I can tell you how Ginny, the twins and I all got dragon pox from Percy. I can show you the spot in the paddock where I fell off a broom the first time I was on one, and broke my front tooth. _

_But ever since you came here before our fourth year, when you're not here, it doesn't feel like home._

_I know the spot on the sofa where you like to curl up and read after dinner. I can tell when you've been washing your hair, because the bathroom smells like lemons. I know you like marmalade on your toast, but strawberry jam on scones. You like milk in your tea, but not your coffee. And you talk in your sleep, but only when you're sleeping peacefully. You haven't talked much, lately._

_You're a bloody good dancer. I wish we'd been able to dance more at Bill's wedding._

_And one day, Hermione, I'm going to marry you._

_I love you. With all the certainty that the Cannons will finish last._

Ron blew on the ink to dry it, and handed the diary to Hermione.

* * *

Ron walked Hermione to the gate, her knapsack slung on his shoulder. It was getting dark, and Hermione had promised her parents she would be home for dinner. 'Let me see you home,' Ron said. 'Please?' 

'Why?' Hermione looked at him, slightly startled.

'It's what blokes do with their girlfriends,' Ron said matter-of-factly.

'Oh. Well, all right, then.' Hermione held out her hand. 'I'll Side-Along you this time, so you'll know where to go next time.' Ron took her hand in his, and she turned.

They reappeared in the neat back garden of the Grangers' house. Ron slowly turned in a circle. The myriad roses glowed in the fading sunlight. The evening breeze carried a hint of the sun-warmed scent of roses. The back door opened and a woman with Hermione's hair, barely confined in a clip came out to greet them. 'Hermione, you're back.' Jane gave her daughter a hug, and with an arm around Hermione's waist, looked up at Ron. 'Ron Weasley.' She held out a hand.

Ron shook Jane's hand, feeling more than a bit awkward, towering over the petite women. 'Mrs. Granger,' he said, ducking his head.

Jane smiled at him. 'I'm sure the last thing you want to hear is "My how much you've grown," but my how much you've grown since the last time I saw you.'

Ron gave Jane an embarrassed sort of grin, before he remembered his manners. 'The roses are beautiful, Mrs. Granger.'

'Oh, that's not any of my doing. Hermione's father is the one who does them.' She took Hermione's knapsack from Ron unresisting hand. 'Would you like to come in for a cup of tea before you go back home?'

Ron looked at Hermione, who wore a hopeful expression. He looked at Jane. 'Yes, I'd like that very much.' He followed Jane and Hermione inside the house.


	10. Checkmate

Ron stood in the middle of the Grangers' back garden, his arms around Hermione's waist. 'I have to go,' he murmured against her lips.

'I know.' Hermione didn't relinquish her embrace. Instead, she kissed the hollow of Ron's throat, where his pulse tripped under her mouth. After several more minutes of torture, she reluctantly let go of Ron.

'Good night, Mione.' Ron tipped her chin up and softly kissed her.

'Good night, Ron.' Hermione took a step back and let go of Ron's hand. He smiled at her – a half-quirk of one side of his mouth, and began to turn.

Hermione blinked and he was gone.

She continued to stand in the garden, thinking about the past hour. In a way, Hermione pitied Ron. But only a tiny bit. Her mother had spent the half-hour Ron stayed for a cup of tea asking him about his family, his job. To his credit, Ron answered each question honestly. Before he left, though, Jane invited him over for dinner Saturday evening. Her birthday. It was the first one she would get to celebrate with her parents in ages.

Hermione also thanked whatever deity had inspired someone to schedule a meeting for that antique rose growers society Richard belonged to down at a pub by Oxford. She privately felt Ron was lucky Richard hadn't been home. Ron might still be at the kitchen table, being grilled by her father, like one of the best inquisitors on the Wizengamot. She sincerely hoped Richard would behave on Saturday. Ron could get a bit tight when he was nervous, and was prone to blurting out the first thing that came into his head. But if he was relaxed, Ron could be quite charming, if he wanted to be.

Hermione started when she felt a woolen shawl drape over her shoulders. 'I could see you shiver from the house,' Jane admonished gently.

Hermione grinned sheepishly. 'Just thinking.'

'He's a nice boy,' Jane commented.

'Yes, he is.'

'Definitely not the same Ron you used to write home about,' Jane continued.

'He grew up a lot when we were…' Hermione drew a slow breath. 'Out,' she finished succinctly. 'Plus, he has this book he thinks I don't know about. _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_.' Hermione chuckled.

'Just one question, Hermione.'

'Yes?'

'Has he never seen a toaster before?' Jane asked, perplexed.

Hermione just laughed.

Saturday was going to be an interesting evening.

* * *

Ron was standing on the top of Stoatshead Hill. He had Apparated there deliberately, wanting to spend some time alone before he got back home. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and began to carefully pick his way down the side of the hill. A thought wormed its way into his head. Ron stopped, one foot suspended in the air. 'Dinner!' he whispered, horrified. Even _he_ knew how atrocious his table manners could be. He hadn't missed the looks of disgust everyone sent his way at more than one meal time. He pulled his wand out, and whispered, '_Lumos_,' directing the resulting beam of light down at his clothing. He was wearing a jumper with frayed cuffs. His jeans were in danger of developing holes in the knees, as threadbare as they were, and his trainers were dirty and scuffed. He hadn't bothered replacing any of his clothes since the end of the war, and what he had at home was in more or less the same state. The only good set of clothing he did have were his dress robes, and he had left them at Grimmauld Place last summer.

Ron sighed, and sank to the ground, his head in his hands. He was going to meet Hermione's father, and the last thing he wanted to do was give him a bad impression.

And he needed to find a birthday gift for Hermione. He had given her Christmas gifts, of course, but birthdays were special. Ron smacked himself in the head. 'Damn,' he muttered. 'What in the bloody hell am I getting myself into?' There was no way he was going to risk clothing. He wouldn't know what size, and knowing his luck, he'd get something too big. She wasn't very girlie, rather like Ginny, but Ginny played Quidditch, and you could always get her new shin or arm guards or gloves. Hermione cheered for Gryffindor at school, but that was as far as her Quidditch loyalties lay. Books, she had. Ron wasn't even sure what kind of book she liked beyond school books.

There was no other way around this. Ron was in over his head and he knew it. He needed help.

Ron hauled himself to his feet and brushed the grass from the rear of his jeans. There was only one person who had the remotest chance of helping.

'Mum?' Ron stood in the doorway to the sitting room. 'I need some advice.' He made idle figure eights with the toe of his trainer on the worn wood of the floor.

Molly looked up from her knitting, surprised. 'All right.' She laid the burgeoning jumper down in her lap. 'What about? You don't seem to need any regarding Hermione,' she said lightly.

'I'm having dinner with her and her parents Saturday,' Ron said desperately. 'I don't want to embarrass her.' Ron slid down the wall, so he sat with his knees crooked into a vee. 'I've got all these images of a thousand forks on the table, and I won't know which one to use,' he said miserably.

Molly nodded, and turned to the sagging bookcase against the wall. 'I know just what you need,' she said. '_Accio_.' A well-worn children's book landed in her outstretched hand. 'Come sit here,' Molly told Ron, patting the sofa cushion next to her. 

Ron pushed himself upright, and flopped on the sofa next to his mother. 'Oh!' He blinked in surprise. 'I remember this. You tried to make me read it when I was seven or eight.' He thumbed through the brightly-colored pages, watching the pictures move as they demonstrated the correct way to hold a fork, which fork to use for which course at fancy dinners, where to put your knife. 

'You were always more interested in putting the food in your mouth than in how it actually got there,' Molly said, softening the mild criticism with a smile. 

'Yeah, well.' Ron rubbed the back of his neck. 'It's maybe about time I paid attention to how it got there.' He fiddled with the book cover for a moment, and steeled himself for his next question. 'What should I get her for her birthday?'

'That's not for me to say.'

'Mum!' Ron protested.

'If I told you what to get Ron, it won't be from you.' Molly patted his back. 'Believe me; you'll know it when you see it.' She laughed at the theatrical groan Ron directed to his knees.

'I have five days,' he moaned.

'Just don't stress about it. And whatever you get will be fine.

'Thanks, Mum.' Ron kissed Molly on the cheek. 'I'm going to go up to bed,' he yawned. Ron stumbled to the stairs and slowly climbed them to his room. Harry was already in bed, reading. 'Hey,' Ron said wearily, tossing the etiquette book on his bed. Last night was starting to catch up with him.

Harry glanced up with a smirk. 'I see you found your Cannons shirt,' he said, pointing to Ron's bed.

'Yeah, fancy that,' Ron drawled nonchalantly. He pulled on his pajamas, and went to brush his teeth. Ron slid into bed with a groan. He took in a deep breath. He could smell the faint, musky perfume of Hermione on the sheets. It was better than the freshly laundered bedding at Hogwarts. Ron began to make a mental shopping list. He fell asleep after "trousers" – the first item on the list.

* * *

'George?' Ron swept the back room carefully. 

'Hmmm?' George stood in front of the shelves, with a clipboard in one hand, and quill in the other.

'Could I have Wednesday afternoon off?' Ron asked in a rush.

George looked up nonplussed. 'Whatever for?'

'I need to find a birthday gift for Hermione,' Ron said, picking at a fleck of peeling paint on the broom handle.

'Good luck with that,' George teased. 'Do you have any idea of what you want to get her?'

'Nothing at all.'

George raised an eyebrow and scribbled an address on a scrap of parchment. 'Try there,' he said shoving it across the work table. 'Before everything went to hell last year, I found something there for Katie for her birthday, too.'

'Katie? Katie Bell?' Ron spluttered.

George rolled his eyes. 'What? I can't be friends with a girl? She's a nice girl.'

Ron grunted. 'I always thought Katie had a thing for Oliver.'

'Huh. Oliver's all but married to Quidditch. I don't think he'd notice a man or a woman, even if they were trying to put a Quaffle in the goalpost naked. People aren't people. They're Quidditch players first to him'

'That explains a lot,' Ron muttered. He picked up the parchment. 'It's a bookshop?'

'Yeah, in Muggle London. They have some really nice books. Fancy, y'know.' George paused and continued delicately, 'The bird that runs the place is really knowledgeable. Just describe Hermione to her. She'll be able to give you a few suggestions.'

Ron's face lit up in relief. 'Oh, thank Merlin. I was afraid I'd have to give her a new copy of _Hogwarts, a History_. Hers is falling apart.' Ron pocketed the parchment carefully. 'One more thing?'

'I'm not giving you snogging lessons. By the looks of that photograph in the paper yesterday, you're doing just fine.'

Ron's face blazed bright red. It clashed horribly with his hair. 'No. Not that. I need to get some clothes…'

George gave Ron a slow, careful once-over. 'Muggle clothing, I assume?'

'Yeah, I'm having dinner with Hermione and her parents Saturday.'

'Ah.' George nodded. 'Trousers, shoes, a nice shirt, and maybe a jumper.' He eyed Ron critically. 'Go for black with the trousers and shoes. Maybe a nice charcoal or dark blue for the jumper, and anything that will go with your hair for the shirt.'

'Did staying at Auntie Muriel's turn you into a pouf or what?' Ron gazed at George suspiciously.

George laughed. 'Ron, you can't turn into a pouf. You just are one. Remember Kenneth Towler from my year? Talk to him sometime.' George shook his head. 'Nah. Auntie Muriel just had a lot of back issues of _Wizarding Gentlemen_. And there wasn't much to do when we were hiding out at her place.' George turned back to the shelves. 'Just let me know if you need some help, eh?'

Ron nodded and feverishly repeated George's suggestions to himself, trying to commit them to memory.

* * *

Ron stood in front of the bathroom mirror, nervously combing his hair. He had asked Molly to trim it for him, and as usual it was a bit shorter than he liked, but at least it wasn't sticking up in odd places. He tried to see his entire body in the mirror, but it was too small, so he settled for balancing on the edge of the bathtub to view the bottom half. Ron looked down and pulled the hem of the jumper, smoothing the wrinkles. 'You look good.' Ron's head snapped to the side. Harry stood in the doorway, dressed in a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. He had changed earlier after Teddy spit up down his back. Harry's head tilted to the side. 'You look like you're going to school in that get-up, though.'

Ron's eyes widened and he looked back down. He groaned and mentally smacked George on the back of the head. He was wearing a neatly pressed pair of black trousers, not unlike his school uniform trousers, a charcoal grey jumper, and the collar of a dark blue button down shirt peeped over the round collar of the jumper. 'I'm going to kill George.'

'Why are you going to kill George?' Arthur's disheveled head appeared over Harry's.

'I look like I'm in my bloody school uniform!' Ron exclaimed. 'She's going to be mortified,' he hissed.

'You look fine, son. Very smart.' Arthur sidled in past Harry and squeezed next to Ron in the small bathroom. He gently tucked one side of the button-down shirt's collar into the jumper. 'There. You'll do fine tonight.' Arthur brushed some lint off Ron's back. 

'Ron!' Molly slid to a stop on the landing, Teddy in her arms. 'You're going to be late!'

Ron looked at his watch, and his face went pale under his freckles. 'Bloody hell,' he muttered, and pushed past the crowd and dashed down stairs. He stopped long enough to pick up a small, brightly wrapped parcel on the kitchen counter. 'I won't be out too late, Mum!' he called up to Molly. He could feel his palms go damp. Ron stopped at the gate and took a deep breath. 'Well, here goes…'

* * *

Hermione paced in the garden, waiting for Ron. He wasn't late. Yet. But she had to do something to drive out the butterflies in her stomach. Besides, she was early. She went to the trellis arch, and tried to make herself sit on the bench under it. She jumped when the _crack_ of someone Apparating echoed in the garden. Hermione whirled around. Ron stood in the middle of the garden, clutching a small package. 'Hi.' She smiled nervously at him.

The corner of Ron's mouth tipped up in that half-grin. 'Hi. Happy birthday,' he said, leaning forward to kiss her. He looked down at her. 'You look… Wow.'

'What? This old thing?' Hermione held out a fold of the skirt of her dress. It was a dress she'd had for a few years.

'Old or not, you still look amazing.'

'Thanks.' Hermione stood back. 'You don't look so bad yourself.'

'It doesn't look too much like my school uniform?' Ron's voice still held a faint note of anxiety.

'You know…' Hermione looked at Ron, her eyes traveling from his toes up to his head. 'Now that you say something…'

Ron shoved the parcel into her hand. 'I knew it… I can't do this. I'm not good with parents, and now I look like I'm about to go take a History of Magic class. I'm going home,' he moaned.

'Ron, wait!' Hermione caught his hand. 'You look fine. Please, don't go.'

Ron's shoulders hunched. 'I just don't want you to be embarrassed by me,' he told her softly.

'I could never be embarrassed by you.' Hermione tugged on his hand. 'Come inside.' Ron allowed Hermione to lead him into the house. She looked over her shoulder at him and squeezed his hand encouragingly. 'Don't worry. I've already made Dad promise to ease up on you tonight.' Ron's only response was a strangled sort of gurgle. 

Hermione took Ron into the kitchen, where her parents were finishing dinner preparations. 'Look who I found,' she said brightly. 'Dad, you remember Ron?'

Ron surreptitiously wiped his free hand down his trouser leg and held his hand out to Richard. 'Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Granger.' He groaned inwardly to at how shaky he sounded.

'Ah, it's nice to meet you again, Ron.' Richard jovially pumped Ron's hand a few times. 

Ron pried his tongue off the roof of his mouth. 'Mrs. Granger.' 

'Good evening, Ron.' Jane smiled warmly at him. 'Lovely to see you again. Dinner will be ready in a moment. Hermione, why don't you and Ron go have a seat, then?' 

Ron flashed Jane a smile of pure gratitude and trailed after Hermione to the dining room. He sagged with relief. There were only two forks at each place setting. 'Oh, thank Merlin,' he breathed.

Hermione gestured to a chair, and settled in the one next to it. 'What?'

'I kept having horrible nightmares of hundreds and hundreds of forks dancing over the table.' Ron's eyes closed briefly. 'I can handle two. The book Mum had me read only went up to four.'

'You read a book?' Hermione goggled at him. 'What kind of book?'

'Etiquette,' Ron mumbled. 'Table manners.' His finger traced the edge of the napkin folded into a fan-shape. 'Don't laugh,' he pleaded.

'No.' Hermione held up the package. 'May I open this?'

'If you want.' Ron watched Hermione carefully pull the paper off, holding his breath.

'Oh, Ron…' Hermione turned the book over in her hands. It was a copy of _Much Ado About Nothing_, bound in burgundy leather.

'I told the lady at the bookshop who was helping me that we sort of bickered a bit. She said you might like this.'

'I do.' Hermione opened the front cover, running a reverential fingertip over the textured pages. 'I can't believe you got me a_book_. A Muggle book, no less.' She cupped Ron's cheek on one hand. 'Thank you.' Hermione pulled Ron's head down for a brief, sweet kiss. 'It's beautiful.'

Ron's head bobbed in bashfully. 'You're welcome, hen.'

* * *

'So, Ron,' Richard turned to Ron, who was twisting his napkin in his lap. 'I hear you play chess.'

'Yes, I do.'

'How good are you?' Richard propped his chin on an upturned hand, the challenge evident in his eyes.

'I'm all right, I suppose,' Ron replied diffidently, shrugging. 'I can beat Hermione.'

'Hermione doesn't play chess, she moves pieces around the board,' pronounced Richard.

'Thanks, Dad,' Hermione chimed in sarcastically. Ron glanced at her, but she didn't seem ruffled by the comment.

'I only speak the truth, Hermione. Of all the things you can do, chess is not one of them.' Richard's gaze transferred back to Ron. 'Fancy a game?'

'What? Now?' Ron's eyes widened.

'Why not?' Richard pushed his chair away from the table. 'Come on.'

Ron looked at Hermione. 'D'you mind?'

She laughed, shaking her head. 'Go on, go. Dad's been dying to play chess with someone since his regular opponent retired last April and moved to Vancouver to be with his family.'

Ron trailed after Richard and folded his lanky frame to the floor, in front of the coffee table, Richard on the sofa. 'White or black?' Richard asked briskly.

'Black.' Ron picked up a pawn, and turned it over in his fingers. It wasn't his first time playing with a Muggle chess set. His own set stopped shouting advice for the most part when he was ten. And after McGonagall's chess set, anything else was a piece of cake. These pieces weren't trying to knock him unconscious, after all.

After an hour and a half, Ron stared at the board. He shook his head and used a blunt forefinger to tip his king over. 'Bugger me,' he exclaimed softly. He looked up at Richard, bemusement warring with admiration on his face. 'I haven't been beaten since…' Ron trailed off, thinking. 'Since I was fifteen, sixteen, I think.' Ron lined up the white pieces next to the board, and passed them to Richard. 'I want a rematch. Next Saturday.'

'Three o'clock suit?'

'My brother's shop is open until five,' Ron replied, with a small shake of his head.

'Dinner, then. Next Saturday. We'll play chess afterward.'

Ron's eyes narrowed. 'How 'bout I bring my set?'

'Why? Is it special?'

Ron laughed. 'You could say that. It belonged to my grandfather Weasley. I'll have to warn you, the pieces may not like you at first, but you seem to know what you're about, so they'll listen to you.'

'What do you mean, "listen to me"?' Richard asked curiously.

'Wizards' chess. The pieces talk, move. When you capture a piece, it's rather… war-like.'

'Brilliant!'

Hermione leaned against Jane, a cup of tea in her hands. 'I think Dad found a playmate,' she told her mother in an undertone.

'It's like two peas in a pod,' Jane said dryly, watching her husband and the lanky teenager discuss chess moves. 'But I draw the line at Ron coming over and asking if Richard can come out and play.'

'That makes two of us,' Hermione chuckled.

Richard carefully packed the pieces into their velvet-lined box. 'So, you've known Hermione a long time.'

'Yeah.'

'How do you feel about her?'

Ron felt his heart skip a beat. 'What do you mean?'

Richard looked at Ron over the rims of his glasses. 'How do you feel about her?'

Ron bit his lip. He leaned across the coffee table, whispering urgently, 'I went shopping for clothes. I hate shopping for clothes. I'd rather dance with an Acromantula than go shopping for clothes, but I went to a shop, and let some swotty salesclerk cluck over me like a mother hen for an hour. Just for her.'

'What's an Acromantula?'

'A very large talking spider with poisonous pinchers,' Ron promptly replied. 'And I _hate_ spiders even more than I hate shopping.' Ron fiddled with the hem of his new jumper. 'I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make her as happy as she is tonight,' he confessed.

'How old are you?' Richard pushed his glasses up his nose. 'If you don't mind me asking.'

'Eighteen. I'll be nineteen in March.'

'You're awfully young, to be that sure of yourself,' Richard commented, twirling a bishop.

'I beg your pardon, sir, but after the last seven years, especially last year, age is only a number.' Ron's eyes dropped to the hem of his jumper again. 'I've been childish, but I haven't been a child since I went into the Forbidden Forest to talk to a nest of Acromantulas to find out what had hurt Hermione.' Ron shook his head. 'Wait. No. Since Harry, Hermione and I went to try and stop You-Kn-… _Voldemort_ from getting the Sorcerers Stone our first year.' Ron grinned abashedly. 'That's a story for another time, though.'

* * *

Ron stood in the middle of the Grangers' back garden, Hermione's arms around his neck. 'Did you have a good birthday today?' he asked, kissing the corner of her mouth.

'Mmmm-hmmmm.' She turned her head, and captured his mouth with her own. 'You and Dad seemed to get on well.'

'He beat me.' Ron still sounded stunned. 'The only person who used to be able to beat me regularly was Bill, and he hasn't done that since my fifth year.'

Hermione smiled. 'It's good for you to lose every so often. Isn't that what you told me my first year?'

'Ahhh. Trust you to remember something I said seven years ago.' Ron's fingertips skimmed over the skin of Hermione's cheek, brushing a curl away from her face. He kissed her with all the pent-up longing of the past week. 'Coming to lunch tomorrow?'

'Absolutely.'

Ron tried to step away from Hermione, but he couldn't do it. 'Mione, one of us is going to have to let go, or you're going home with me.'

'Would that be so bad?'

'No, but your dad might kill me.' Hermione sighed, and let her hands slide away from Ron's shoulders. She started to step away, but Ron held her close for a moment. 'Happy birthday, hen.'

With that, he let her go, and stepped back. Hermione closed her eyes when he started to turn, and when she opened them, he was gone.

* * *

A/N: _Much Ado About Nothing_ features a couple -- Benedick and Beatrice -- whose method of courting is bickering. Just like Ron and Hermione. 


	11. Fly With Me

'Ron, just sign it.'

'No.' Ron pulled his robes on in the back room of the shop and went to unlock the front door.

George sighed and followed Ron, brandishing the dark purple-edged parchment. 'Ron, be reasonable.'

'George, I am being reasonable,' Ron calmly replied. It wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation.

In fact, it was a repetition of the same conversation they had at least once a week now for weeks. George lost count months ago. He was starting to get annoyed with Ron's persistent refusals. And he was running out of reasons to try and persuade Ron to sign the contract. George heard a rustling sound behind him, and saw Hermione emerge from behind the curtain that led to the back room. She had come down from the flat upstairs and was on her way to work. She and Ron had moved into the flat more than two years ago.

George glanced over his shoulder at a photograph of him and Fred taken the day the shop opened. Fred would have known how to make Ron sign the bloody thing a long time ago. George knew one reason that would compel Ron to do it. _Can I go there? Fred would have done it in a heartbeat._ George's gaze drifted to the front door. Ron and Hermione were talking quietly to one another at the door, too softly for George to hear what was said. Ron leaned down to kiss Hermione, and George averted his eyes, feeling like an intruder. When he heard the door close, though, George moved in for the kill. 'You want to marry Hermione, don't you?' Ron jerked as if he'd been hit with a Stunning spell. _Bull's-eye_, thought George.

'Yeah,' Ron muttered.

'So, sign the papers already,' wheedled George, holding out the parchment and a Self-Inking Quill.

Ron hungrily gazed at the parchment, his fingertips lightly brushing the edge. 'George, it's not that I don't want to do this…'

George took a deep breath, counting to ten. Slowly. 'But?' he prompted.

'But this has always been your dream. And Fred's.' Ron turned as the door opened to admit a young girl. 'Later, all right?' he pleaded in an undertone.

George nodded, but ground his teeth in frustration.

* * *

The shop closed for an hour at noon for lunch, unless the shop was at sixes and sevens, but that was only when Hogwarts letters went out, when the summer holiday started, and during the Christmas holiday. Ron had already gone up to the flat to make lunch. George was angry at Ron – angrier than he'd ever been. George had been stewing all morning about Ron's latest refusal to sign the papers that would officially make Ron a part-owner of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes – equal to George. It wasn't so much Ron he was angry with, but with his stubborn unwillingness to sign the papers. Both George, and Harry, who owned twenty percent of the shop on George's insistence, agreed Ron had more than earned it. Especially after he'd spent the last four years as what amounted to George's employee.

George walked into the flat and watched Ron put a plate of sandwiches on the table. 'Do you not think you deserve to be more than a damn manager?'

Ron put a sandwich on his plate. 'You and Fred built this. All I do is work here.'

George shook his head, as if he was trying to clear it of cobwebs. He exhaled strongly through his nose. 'Ron. You've done more than just work here for four years. You know the shop and how to run it as well as I do. You work just as hard as I do, if not harder. You've earned it.' George set the parchment on the counter.

Ron looked at the stack of parchment. It seemed to glow in the tiny, dim kitchen. 'I'll let you know tomorrow.' He took a bite of his sandwich. 'And it will be my final answer.' George nodded.

* * *

Ron locked the front door of the shop after George had gone home for the evening, his mind more on the sheaf of parchment upstairs. He unhooked his robes, and hung them up before going up to the flat.

Ron picked up the parchment. If he signed, it meant he and George would split eighty percent of the shop. It was a lot of money. More than Ron had ever had in his life. The idea of having money like that frightened Ron more than he wanted to admit. There was something comfortable about his financial situation. It was familiar. Ron wouldn't even know what to do with that much money. George certainly hadn't been ungenerous with Ron's pay. Quite the opposite. It was plenty for Ron to live on. But Ron wanted to be able to take care of Hermione before he proposed to her. Not that Hermione needed to be taken care of, really, but Ron wanted to be able to support them both, out of some sense of male pride, he supposed. Ron dropped the parchment back on the counter.

If he signed, on that line under George and Harry's signatures, he could finally ask Hermione to marry him. Ron sat on the sofa and stretched his feet out in front of him, so he sprawled out comfortably with his head resting on the back. Truth be told, there was only one person Ron worried about, and he wasn't here to give his blessing.

Worn out from the tension with George all day, Ron's eyes drifted shut and he fell asleep, waiting for Hermione to come home.

The door to the flat opened several minutes later, and Hermione came inside. She saw Ron sleeping, and quietly put her bag down by the door, and pulled her shoes off. Hermione went into the kitchen to get a butterbeer and frowned at the unfamiliar parchment lying on the counter. She had never seen it before. Picking it up, she rapidly skimmed through the contents, her eyes widening as she came to the end. She carefully set the parchment back on the counter, and turned to look at Ron. His brow was furrowed with something she couldn't identify. Hermione tiptoed to the sofa, and sank next to Ron, leaning into him. She rested her head on his shoulder and waited for him to wake up.

* * *

_Ron was sitting in the tree house, playing chess against himself. He frowned at the board. The last time he had done this, he'd been… What? Thirteen? Fourteen? Ron nudged a white pawn forward, and was about to spin the board around, when a familiar hand swooped down and moved a black pawn. Ron's head snapped up. George hadn't liked to play chess, but every now and then, Ron could persuade Fred into playing a game or two after dinner. 'Well, who else were you expecting, little bro?'_

'_Are you wound up, then?'_

'_Why would I be?' scoffed Fred. 'That you lot moved on?' Fred reached across the board, and ruffled Ron's hair. 'I'd be a lot more upset if you hadn't.' Fred looked at the board significantly. 'Your move.'_

_Startled, Ron glanced down and moved a knight. 'You don't mind me being part of the shop?'_

'_How long has George had those papers?'_

'_Oh…' Ron mentally tallied all the weeks George had tried to get him to sign the papers. 'I dunno. I guess about two years, give or take a few weeks.'_

'_Two years?' Fred shook his head. 'You refused to sign those bloody papers for two years because of what I might think?' Fred asked incredulously._

'_Well, yeah.'_

'_Ron, you're a git.'_

'_But, I…' Ron spluttered. 'What?!'_

'_Ron, I'm dead,' Fred said bluntly. 'It doesn't matter what I think.' Fred moved another pawn on the board. 'Live your life the way you want, Ron, and stop worrying about what I think. Besides, Hermione loves you, for reasons known only to the Department of Mysteries, but she won't wait forever._

'_Yeah, I know.'_

'_Sign the contract, Ron. You've more than earned it._

_Ron looked down at the chessboard, more to hide the sudden tears in his eyes, than to make his next move. He moved a pawn, his hand shaking. It was a very high compliment from Fred. 'Thanks, Fred,' he said hoarsely. 'Your move.' Ron looked up. Fred was gone._

* * *

'Fred?' Ron woke up with a start. He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face, almost expecting to see the leaves of the oak tree outside the windows, and not the shops of Diagon Alley. He felt a weight on his chest, and looked down, perplexed. Hermione looked up at him, her eyes soft with sleep. 'When did you get home, hen?'

'About six-thirty.' Hermione sat up, stretching. 'Dreaming, were you?'

'Yeah. About Fred.'

'You don't normally dream about Fred.'

'No.' Ron rubbed his temples. The nap had given him a headache.

'Is it because of that pile of parchment on the kitchen counter?'

Ron sighed and let his head drop to the back of the sofa again. 'Yeah.'

'Because you think he would mind?'

Ron turned his head and looked at Hermione. 'Not anymore, I don't.' He heaved himself to his feet and went to the small desk in the corner of the sitting room and rummaged in a drawer for a Self-Inking Quill that wasn't broken or still worked. He walked to the counter and picked up the parchment, carrying it to the table.

The quill trembled briefly, as he held it suspended over the line with "Ronald Bilius Weasley" neatly printed underneath. Swallowing, Ron signed his name in his untidy scrawl, under George's round signature and Harry's angular script.

All three signatures flared, then glowed softly for a moment, throwing shadows in Ron's face for a moment, before it faded. The signatures were permanent, part of the parchment now. The contract was nearly like an Unbreakable Vow. It couldn't be broken, unless one of them died, or all three of them agreed to change it.

Ron looked up at Hermione. 'Want to go for a walk?'

'Sure. Just let me go change my clothes.' Hermione darted into the bedroom, and reappeared a few minutes later, wearing a comfortable jumper and jeans. 'Where are we going?'

'Hogsmeade?' It was out of Ron's mouth before he could stop himself. There was something he wanted to see there. He held out a hand to Hermione. She entwined her fingers in his, and he turned, Disapparating them both.

* * *

They strolled down High Street, talking of this and that. Ron came to a stop to the building that had once been the premises for Zonko's. 'They were going to take over this, you know,' he told Hermione. 'Talked about opening a branch here our sixth year. Never got to it, though, before things went all pear-shaped.' His face grew thoughtful. 'What if…' he murmured, ideas running rampant through his head. 'Maybe one day.' Ron shrugged, and tightened his grip on Hermione's hand. 'Come on; let's go see what Rosmerta's got for dinner tonight. I'm starving.'

'When are you not?' she quipped.

'Good question.' They turned and headed for the Three Broomsticks. Something caught Ron's attention from the corner of his eye. 'Hang on.' He stopped at the shop window, crammed with all kinds of jewelry. _That's it!_ he said to himself, feeling a thrill go up his spine, vowing to return in a few days to purchase it.

'What are you looking at?' Hermione asked curiously.

'Oh. Your birthday's coming up.'

'It's April. You've got months to procrastinate.'

'Hey, I can plan ahead!' Ron protested.

'Yes, you can,' agreed Hermione. 'I thought you were hungry.'

'I am.'

As they headed to the pub, Ron looked back over his shoulder. There was only one more thing he had to do.

Well, two.

* * *

Saturday morning found Ron in the Grangers' back garden, up to his elbows in dragon dung fertilizer. It was something of a tradition with he and Richard on the Saturdays Ron didn't need to work in the shop. They would putter about in the roses, have lunch, then play chess until dinner, sometimes with Richard's set, and the others with Ron's wizarding set.

Richard watched Ron with concern. There was obviously something bothering Ron, and as much as Ron tried to hide it, Richard knew Ron was rubbish at hiding his emotions. 'Out with it, son. I can hear your mind spinning over here.'

Ron's ears reddened, and he opened a closed his mouth a few times. 'You know Hermione, right?'

'I believe so. For over twenty-two years,' Richard replied, amused.

Ron stripped off his dragon-hide gloves, and dug into a pocket of his jeans. 'Do you think she'd like this?' he asked, holding out a small box to Richard.

Richard raised an eyebrow, and stripped off his own gloves before accepting the box. He opened it to reveal a small gold band, set with a deeply red ruby. To Ron, it was the only ring he could have given her – it was Gryffindor's colors and it was just like Hermione – elegantly unpretentious and beautiful. Both of Richard's eyebrows went up. 'Yes, I do.' He gently closed the box and handed it back to Ron, who tucked it tenderly back inside his pocket.

'So I was wondering,' began Ron nervously. 'May I… Erm…' Ron could feel sweat beading along his upper lip that had nothing to do with the early spring sunshine. 'May I have your permission to ask Hermione to marry me?' he asked in a rush.

Richard gaped at him in astonishment, before he roared with laughter, causing Ron to wilt slightly. 'Jane!' Richard called as he gasped for air. 'Jane, come out here!'

Jane hurried into the garden. 'Are you all right?' she asked concernedly. Richard was wheezing breathlessly.

'Fine, fine.' Richard waved her off, sitting back on his heels. 'Ron here wants our permission to ask Hermione to marry him,' he told his wife, snorting with mirth.

Jane stared down at Ron with the same kind of dubious expression he'd seen so often on Hermione's face when he tried to convince her he had done his homework when, in fact, he hadn't. 'Why would you want to do something so bloody archaic?'

'It's what you do…' Ron replied weakly.

Richard chuckled and slapped Ron on the back. 'Why on earth would you bother asking Jane and me for our permission when Hermione's the one that will have to make the final decision, lad?'

Ron heaved a sigh and sat back, swiping his shirt sleeve across his forehead. 'Because she's your only daughter. Your only child, really. And I respect you too much to make this kind of decision without your input.' Ron shrugged uncomfortably. 'I'd like to have your blessing. That I'm good enough for her.' Ron stared at his hands, the thumb of his right hand, rubbing at a smear of dirt on the back of his left hand.'

He didn't see the look that Jane and Richard exchanged over his head. 'Ron.' Jane crouched down and tilted up his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. 'There's never been anyone else for Hermione, except you.'

'You have our blessing, Ron,' Richard added quietly, knowing that Ron needed to hear one of them say it.

Ron transferred his gaze to Richard. 'Thank you, sir.'

* * *

Ron woke up early Sunday morning, before Hermione. He was too keyed up to sleep any later. He turned on his side, watching her sleep. Ron had been around Hermione long enough to know she suspected something at her parents' house last night. He, Richard, and Jane were still slightly giddy from that morning, and Ron could see Hermione give them long, speculative glances. Richard had slapped him on the back before he Disapparated to Diagon Alley and wished him luck.

Ron had planned this moment for years, ever since she came back from Australia. He knew he should have signed those papers two years ago, when George first offered it to him, but Ron needed to know George wasn't doing it out of pity. Ron snorted softly to himself. Sometimes, even he had to admit he took being thick to a whole new level. _Some things never change_.

'Hey.' Hermione blinked sleepily at him. 'You're awake early.'

Ron reached over and pushed a curl from her face. 'Yeah. Couldn't sleep.'

'Everything all right?'

'Oh, yeah. Just thinking.'

'Don't hurt yourself,' she teased. 'It's too early for heavy thinking.' Hermione slid out of bed.

Ron watched her leave the bedroom. The ring was hidden in his knapsack. He was going to do it after lunch. His Cleansweep Eighteen was in the broom shed at the Burrow. Hermione wasn't too keen on flying, but Ron felt most at ease on his broom. Plus, it was a good way to find some peace and quiet. 'Hey, Mione?'

'What?'

'Your mum and dad are coming over lunch today, right?'

Hermione appeared in the doorway. 'Yeah. That was nice of you to invite them over.'

'You're sure they don't mind the drive?' It would take nearly three hours for Jane and Richard to get to the Burrow from their home. Hermione still hadn't introduced her parents to more magical means of transportation. 'We could Side-Along them.'

'If Dad's driving, he'll make it with time to spare.'

Ron settled back into his pillow. 'Good.'

'What's gotten into you today?'

'Nothing,' Ron replied innocently. ­_Everything_.

Hermione gave him another speculative glance, and went back into the sitting room. Like her mother, she did the Sunday crossword in ink over a cup of tea. But the _Prophet_ crossword was slightly more precarious than the _Times_. If you activated the timer charm, you were given precisely sixty minutes to complete the puzzle. If you didn't finish, it would explode in your face. Rather like Exploding Snap cards.

Ron closed his eyes and smiled, humming to himself.

* * *

After lunch, Ron pulled Hermione outside into the back garden. 'Do you trust me?'

'Of course I do.' She gave him one of her patented narrow-eyed looks.

Ron pointed his wand to the broom shed. '_Accio_,' he whispered, and his broom zoomed out and came to a standstill next to them. He mounted the broom, and held his hand out. 'Come fly with me?' She hesitated, biting her lip. Flying was not very high on her list of fun things to do. 'I won't let anything happen to you,' Ron begged. 'Just a few laps around the paddock.' Hermione put her hand in his, and mounted the broom in front of Ron. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her back securely against him, her bottom wedged firmly between his thighs. 'Ready?'

'I guess,' she said, only a slight squeak betraying her nervousness.

Ron gently kicked off and they soared over the trees. Ron looked down at Hermione, and grinned. She was clutching the handle of the broomstick tightly with both hands, and her eyes were squeezed shut. He leaned down, so his mouth was next to her ear. 'Open your eyes, hen,' he whispered.

'Why?'

'So you can see,' Ron told her matter-of-factly.

Hermione whimpered, but slowly opened one eye. They were hovering over the apple tree. She gasped and both eyes flew open. 'You _like_ this?'

'I love it.' Ron urged the broom forward, drifting in lazy figure-eights around the paddock, directing the Cleansweep in a slow dive, so his toes grazed the top of the grass, then back up. 'Mione?'

'Yeah?' Her voice was slightly less shaky than it had been when they started.

'I've known you half my life. And I've said a lot of stupid things to you over the years, and I can't promise I won't ever say anything idiotic again, but I'll try. I love you, Hermione. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You're my best friend, hen. Marry me? Please?'

'Oh…' Hermione breathed. 'I thought Harry was your best friend.'

Ron gaped at her. That was _not_ what he expected. 'Well, yeah, he is, but I don't want to marry him. I think Ginny might have something to say about that, too.'

Hermione smiled. 'I'd say so.' She was quiet for a moment, watching their shadow glide over the grass below. 'Take us down?'

Ron tilted the broomstick toward the ground, coasting to a stop by the tree house. His palms were getting sweaty. _Sweet Merlin, is she going to answer me?_ He climbed off the broom, and helped Hermione down, holding her up when her knees buckled. He sat in the tall grass, Hermione in his lap. 'Mione, for Merlin's sake, are you going to give me an answer?'

'Ask me again.'

'Marry me.'

'Yes.'

'Yes?' Ron asked in disbelief.

'Yes.'

'Oh, thank you,' he breathed, as he gave her a hard kiss. '_Accio_.' Ron pointed his wand at one of the tree house windows. Something small flew through the air, and he caught it. 'I hope you like this,' he said, opening his fist to reveal the ring.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She nodded and held out her left hand. Ron slid the ring on her finger, then turned her hand over, and kissed her palm. 'Do you want to go back?' he asked, jerking his head toward the house.

'Not yet. Let's just stay like this for a bit.'

Ron wrapped his arms around Hermione. 'Sounds good to me.'

* * *

A/N: One more chapter to go... You can probably guess what it is. :)


	12. It's My Party

A/N: I know... I said this was the last one... :) So, seeing as this is the next-to-last chapter, there's still one more left. :)

A kelpie is a magical shape-shifting creature that mostly appears as a horse.

* * *

Ginny heard a thumping sound come from the general direction of the front door of the flat. She attempted to put her head under her pillow, but it just got louder. She grumpily threw the bedclothes off and sat up. She looked down at Harry. 'I know you're awake, you git,' she growled, swinging her feet to the floor.

Harry peered through his eyelashes, and when Ginny was almost at the bedroom door, he yawned and stretched in the most ludicrously exaggerated way possible. 'Since you're already up, Gin…'

'If my wand wasn't on the other side of the room, I'd hex you,' Ginny huffed as she went to answer the door. She hated it when someone woke her up early the day after a game. She jerked the door open. 'This had better be good,' she warned, coming face-to-face with Hermione.

'Am I too early?' Hermione looked down at her watch. 'We did say we were going to meet at eleven, didn't we?'

Ginny reached over and grasped Hermione's left wrist, bringing it up to her face. 'Damn,' she swore. It was eleven. 'Come in. I just need a few minutes to get dressed.' Ginny held the door wider and stepped back, letting Hermione into the flat.

'No rush. Hannah said she'd keep a table for us.' Hermione headed for the kitchen. 'Want some coffee before we go?'

'I'd love some.' Ginny went into the bedroom, and gathered some clothes to wear for the day, before going into the bathroom. She pinned up her hair, and took a sketchy shower. Ginny pulled her clothes on, cursing when the denim of her jeans stuck to her still-damp skin.

'You kiss your mum with that mouth?' Harry leaned lazily against the doorway.

'I kiss you with that mouth,' Ginny retorted. 'Why didn't you remind me Hermione was coming over this morning?'

'I did. Right before we went to bed.' Harry took his glasses off, and held them up to the light, then polished the lenses on the hem of his t-shirt. 'You told me to bugger off right before you started drooling on my pillow.' He slid the glasses back onto his nose. 'I've never wanted you more,' he said cheekily.

'I did not!' Ginny exclaimed, scandalized. It was almost as bad as the time Harry told her she snored.

'Hey, I tried to move you to your pillow, but you wouldn't budge. At least I didn't have to sleep in the wet spot you made.'

Hermione's curly head appeared around Harry's shoulder. 'Coffee's ready, Gin.'

Harry looked down at Hermione. 'Set a date yet?'

She gazed up at him in annoyance. 'You're getting worse than my mum and Molly combined with asking about the date.'

'Yeah, but it's fun to watch you squirm.' Harry grinned. 'Is there enough coffee for me, too?'

'You don't deserve coffee,' Ginny called after his retreating form. She gave Hermione an apologetic look. 'I really am sorry.'

'It's all right. Come on, before that greedy husband of yours drinks all the coffee.'

* * *

Hermione pulled a notebook and ballpoint pen from her bag. 'Do you know when your games are in September? We were thinking about the twenty-seventh.'

Ginny toyed with a piece of pasta. 'I don't think you'll have to worry about that.'

'But, Ginny, you're the matron-of-honor! Of course I have to worry about that!'

Ginny set her fork down. 'I'm not sure…' she began. 'I'm not sure if I'm going to sign my contract at the end of this season.' She picked up the goblet of pumpkin juice and started morosely into it. 'I wish Hannah hadn't charmed the goblets. I could use something stronger right now.'

Hermione scrutinized Ginny's face. 'Ginny… This is Quidditch. You _love_ playing Quidditch.'

Ginny sipped her pumpkin juice. 'Correction. I did.' She sighed and set the goblet back down on the table. 'I like playing it. When I signed with the Harpies, I did it because I didn't know what else to do with myself. I didn't want to work for the Ministry. I didn't want to work with Ron and George. I didn't want to be a Healer. And I really didn't want to work for Gringotts.' She picked her fork up again, and prodded the food on her plate with it. 'It's just not something I can see myself doing for the rest of my life.' She speared a piece of pasta and put it in her mouth, chewing meditatively. 'I think it might be time to pack it in.'

Hermione closed the notebook. 'Does Harry know?'

Ginny shook her head. 'No. And don't say anything. I haven't had a chance to talk to him about it yet.'

'What happened? I mean, _why_?'

Ginny leaned back in her chair. She was glad she got to talk about this with Hermione before she said anything to Harry. 'I was in Portree the other week for a game. The weather was horrible. Sleet, snow, bitterly cold wind. And I'm in the middle of the bleeding _game_ thinking to myself, "What the in the name of Merlin's bollocks am I doing here?" I was holding the bloody Quaffle, for pity's sake.' She reached for her goblet and drained it in one gulp. 'If I'm going to spend the rest of my adult life doing something, I want to do it because I enjoy it.'

'Any idea what you'll do after this season? If you don't sign the contract, that is.' Hermione propped her chin in her upturned hands.

'I can't stay home. I'll go mad if all I have to do with myself is darn Harry's socks and dust the furniture.' Ginny repressed a shudder. 'I know Mum did that, but I just can't see it for myself.' She paused. 'There is something…'

'What?'

'Do you remember that series I wrote for the _Prophet_ last season?'

'Yeah, it was brilliant! I even liked it, and I don't get Quidditch. It wasn't just about Quidditch, though, you really made even the most mundane thing, like practicing dodging Bludgers sound like fun.'

Ginny grinned. 'The editor of the paper offered me a job. Standing offer if, or when, I ever decide to stop playing.' Ginny twirled a lock of hair around her finger.

'Ginny, that's fantastic! Why haven't you told anyone?'

Ginny shrugged. 'Nothing to tell, really.' She picked up her fork again. 'As of right now, I'm Ginny Potter, Chaser with the Holyhead Harpies, jersey number six. I haven't made any decisions yet.' She took a bite of her cooling pasta. 'Now, then, you said something about the twenty-seventh of September?' she asked, changing the subject.

Hermione flipped the notebook open and picked up the ballpoint pen. 'Right. Do you think your mum and dad will mind if we had it at the Burrow?'

Ginny snorted. 'Hardly. It'll give Mum a chance to throw a big party.'

'All right, then. I'll just ask Molly at lunch tomorrow.' Hermione made a small note in the margin of the notebook. 'Guest list.' She made a face. 'I want to keep it small – like yours was.'

Ginny let out a hoot of laughter. 'That's only because those were the people we could agree on. You should have seen the list before that. The Order, D.A., even the Gryffindor Quidditch team.'

'Wait, wouldn't that mean that Cho and Dean were on the list?' Hermione's eyebrow went up.

'Sadly, yes.' Ginny grinned. 'It got so out of hand; we decided to just invite the family.'

'I'll have to invite your aunt Muriel, won't I?' Hermione frowned. 'At least my dress ought to be long enough to hide my ankles.' She grudgingly scribbled Muriel's name on the list.

'What about your Muggle relatives?'

'It's just my aunt Pam and cousin William. Frankly, I wouldn't care if they didn't come.' Hermione tapped the pen against the page of the notebook. 'I wonder…' A mischievous grin spread over her features.

'What are you planning?' Ginny asked suspiciously.

'I was thinking about putting a Muggle-Repelling charm on the invitation. When they open the envelope, they'll put it down somewhere, and forget about it.'

'Won't your mother be angry?'

'Nope. She's not crazy about Aunt Pam and William to begin with.' Hermione sighed and looked back down at the notebook, filled with anxious scribbles. 'Sometimes, I think George and Katie had the right idea.'

'What? Eloping?'

'Yeah.' A dreamy smile spread over Hermione's face. 'I know a Spanish Ministry official in Barcelona who could do it. Ron would love it, because he wouldn't have to dress up. I won't have to fuss with all these details…' Hermione trailed off, imagining what it would be like to just take off for Spain. Shacklebolt would give them an International Portkey, no questions. They could spend a week in some private bungalow on the beach. But her parents wouldn't be there. Neither would Harry. Or the Weasleys. It wouldn't be right to exclude them. 'It's a nice dream,' she said.

'I still can't believe Ron finally worked up the nerve to propose.' Ginny pointed to the ring on Hermione's finger. 'And I still can't believe he picked that out on his own.' She sniffed dramatically. 'Ah, my ickle Ronnikins. All grown up and getting _married_!'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'How's this for a dress for you?' She pulled out a swatch of shimmery dark blue fabric and handed it to Ginny. 'I tried to find something that wouldn't clash with your hair.'

'As long as it's not pink, I'm fine with it.'

'What's wrong with pink?'

'Hmmmm.' Ginny tapped her chin thoughtfully with a forefinger. 'It's pink. It reminds me way too much of Umbridge's office.'

'Good point.' Hermione scrawled "no pink" in her notebook.

'Found a dress yet?'

'I'm going to Mum and Dad's later. I want to try on my grandmother's dress. Mum wore it at her wedding, and I want to wear it at mine.'

Ginny stifled a yawn, and flushed. 'Sorry. It's been a long week. I usually spend most Saturdays in my pajamas, lolling on the sofa with one of my barmy Muggle novels.' She fished in the pocket of her jeans for a few Galleons and placed them on the table. 'If the dress fits, bring it to lunch soon. I'm sure Mum will want to see it.' She stood up. 'I need to go take a nap if I'm going to be any use to anyone. Go ahead and plan for the twenty-seventh. And invite who _you_ want. It's your wedding.'

'Yes, it is, isn't it?' Hermione's face lit up with glee.

* * *

Hermione pulled her jumper over her head and threw it on the bed in her parents' bedroom. She slid her jeans down her legs and shivered slightly as she stepped into the ivory satin folds Jane held out. She slipped her arms into the fitted sleeves and turned so Jane could button the back of the dress that went from the small of her back to her collarbone. 'Last one,' Jane murmured as she gently pushed the small cloth-covered button through its hoop on the other side of the bodice. 'Turn around and let me look at you.'

Hermione slowly turned in a wide circle, trying to avoid tripping over the train. 'What do you think?' she asked, trying to see how her bum looked in the dress.

'It's perfect. Mum would be over the moon.' Jane put her hands on Hermione's shoulders and lightly pushed her toward a full-length mirror in the corner of the room. 'Take a look for yourself.'

Hermione stood in front of the mirror. The neckline just covered her shoulders, leaving her collarbone exposed. Long sleeves flowed snugly to her wrists. The bodice clung to her body and cascaded from her hips to the floor in gleaming folds. 'Oh,' she breathed. 'It's beautiful.'

'So you have something old,' Jane mused. 'My pearls will look lovely with this, so there's your something borrowed.'

'That just leaves the something new and something blue.' Hermione grinned abashedly and giggled. She held the skirt of the dress out in both hands. 'Did you feel this…? Oh, I don't know… _Giddy_ when you tried it on?' Hermione met her mother's eyes in Jane's reflection. 'I'm normally so sensible.'

Jane put her arms around her daughter. 'Yes. It did.' She gazed at Hermione's image in the mirror and sniffled. 'Did you set a date yet?'

'September twenty-seventh. Hopefully, the weather will cooperate and it won't rain.'

'It's good luck for you to have rain on your wedding day,' Jane objected.

Hermione snorted. 'Not during an outdoor wedding.'

'Hermione?' Ron called up the stairs. 'Are you up there?' His voice was closer.

'Bloody hell!' Hermione scrabbled in her discarded clothes for her wand. She jabbed it sharply at the door just as Ron appeared in the doorway. 'Don't come in!' The door slammed into Ron's face.

'Ow!' Ron howled in pain. 'I dink you boke mah dose…' he moaned.

'Oh, no!' Hermione put a hand on the doorknob. 'Close your eyes!'

'Why?' Ron wailed.

'I'm wearing my wedding dress, you git. You can't see me in the dress before the wedding! It's bad luck!'

'Dat's bahmy!' Ron exclaimed through the throbbing pain in his face.

'That's how it's going to be, so close your eyes, if you want me to fix your nose in the next thirty seconds,' Hermione said impatiently.

'Findh,' Ron huffed.

'Are they closed?'

'Yes.'

Hermione cracked the door open, and Ron stood with his hands over his face, blood pouring from his nose, eyes shut tightly. 'Keep them shut, there's a good lad,' she murmured soothingly.

'I'md nob a childh,' Ron groused.

Hermione pointed her wand at his face. '_Episkey_.' She quickly closed the door. 'I think I should get this off,' she said wryly. 'Before someone else gets hurt.' She turned her back to Jane, who swiftly undid all the buttons. Hermione tugged the sleeves from her arms and carefully stepped out of the dress and began to pull her jeans back on.

Jane deftly folded the dress and tucked it into its box. 'Do you want to take it home?' she asked as she lowered the lid on the box.

Hermione's fingers glided longingly over the edge of the box. 'No,' she said regret coloring her voice. 'I'd better not. I'll come get it closer to the wedding.' She tugged the jumper over her head. 'I should go check on Ron.'

Ron gazed in bewilderment at the door, shut firmly in his face. His nose didn't hurt anymore, but a quick glance at the front of his shirt revealed several large splotches of blood. He could feel it begin to congeal in a stiff ring around his mouth and over his chin. He pulled out his wand, and ducked into the bathroom, muttering a spell that would siphon the blood from his shirt and face. 'Weddings are even more dangerous than I thought,' he muttered.

'Are you all right?' Hermione slipped into the bathroom and reached up to gently prod Ron's nose.

'Why'd you have to break my nose?'

'I didn't mean to,' she argued. 'I was trying on my grandmother's wedding dress. You're not to see me in it before the wedding.'

'You could wear a potato sack, and you'd look beautiful.'

'Thanks, but I don't think I should wear something like that to our wedding.'

'Did you decide on the guest list yet?'

Hermione sighed. 'No.'

'Charlie had the right idea,' Ron grumbled. 'Just show up one Sunday lunch and say, "Mum, Dad, I got married last week!" Save us a load of trouble.'

'Do we have to have something as big as Bill and Fleur's?' Hermione asked plaintively.

Ron pulled Hermione closer and dropped a kiss on top of her disordered hair. 'No, hen, we don't. If it's all the same to you, I just want to have our families.'

Hermione tilted her head back. 'That's still a rather large wedding. You have a lot of cousins.'

'I meant just our parents and Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Bronwyn, Percy, Penny, George, Katie and the kids.' Ron drew a breath. 'And Andromeda and Teddy, too.'

'Oh.' Hermione blinked. 'Well, now. That's a kelpie of a different color, then.' She stiffened as she remembered. 'And your aunt Muriel.'

'Bloody hell… Do we have to?'

'Sadly, yes. Or we'll never hear the end of it.'

'Barmy old bat,' Ron muttered. 'Fine.' He heaved a sigh. 'Remind me again why I wanted to be involved in planning the wedding?'

'Because you begged to be involved.'

'And remind me why we're not eloping, like just about everyone else?'

'Because,' Hermione began patiently, 'we really want Harry and Ginny with us, and trying to get those two to take a vacation is next to impossible. And I want Mum and Dad there. And your mum and dad, too.' Ron opened his mouth to protest, and Hermione laid a finger over his lips. 'And I'm not doing this in a dingy Ministry office.'

Ron shook his head. 'No, hen.' He kissed the tip of her nose. 'You're going to have the perfect day. Nothing but sunshine and a canopy of autumn leaves.'

'And how do you know this?'

'I ordered it,' Ron said smugly. 'Just for you.'

'You can't order weather,' Hermione said logically.

'No, but it wouldn't dare be otherwise for you.'

Hermione grinned and began to head downstairs. 'We'll need daisies,' she said, half thinking aloud.

Ron pulled out his wand and waved it in front of Hermione. 'I'm way ahead of you.' He plucked the daisy from midair and tucked it behind Hermione's ear. 'I've been working on that for a month.'

Hermione traced the outline of a petal. 'Who are you and what have you done with Ron?'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'I was wrong about you. You have far more emotional range than a teaspoon.'

'Bound to happen eventually.'


	13. From This Day

Harry woke up when his alarm clock went off.

In a different room.

He sat up, snorting, surrounded by unfamiliar butter-yellow walls, with vague, blurry shapes standing over him. Harry patted the small night table next to the narrow bed and found his glasses. He shoved them on his nose, the room swimming into focus. He was in Teddy's room, and the painted figures of a stag, wolf, and dog on the one wall painted as a forest clearing stood still. Harry scrubbed his hands through his hair, wincing at the discordant buzz of the alarm clock, still echoing through the flat. He squinted at the shaggy black dog, grinning with doggy delight. Harry could swear it was laughing at him.

Harry shrugged and slid out of Teddy's bed. Ron had stayed over last night, and Harry had let Ron have the wide bed Harry generally shared with Ginny. Ron only agreed to sleep in the bed once Harry ostentatiously performed a Scouring charm on it and put clean sheets on in front of Ron; even though Harry protested he had changed the bedding that afternoon. Harry had promised Hermione that both he and Ron would be at the Burrow by two in the afternoon, dressed and ready to go for the wedding at three.

Harry shuffled into the sitting room, trying to stretch the kinks out of his back from curling his lanky frame into Teddy's small bed. It wasn't unlike the bed he had slept in at the Burrow after the war, but after four years of sleeping in the spacious bed in the other bedroom, it had been a horribly cramped night. And after nearly four years sleeping with Ginny, sleeping alone had been an unpleasant sensation.

The alarm clock was still buzzing. Harry sighed and trudged into his bedroom, thinking that even Ron couldn't possibly sleep through all that. 'Oi! Ron! Turn the bloody alarm off, you git!'

The bed was empty. It didn't even look like Ron had slept in it, although four years of living with Hermione had taught him to make the bed. Harry slammed a hand down on the alarm clock, shutting the increasingly annoying buzz off. _Bathroom?_ Harry knocked on the bathroom door, before opening it. Ron wasn't there, either. ­_Maybe he's in the kitchen, and I just didn't see him_, Harry wondered. He quickly retraced his steps and went into the kitchen, fully expecting to see Ron surrounded by the remains of a hearty breakfast. Nothing so much as a crust of toast. 'Oh, bloody, effing _hell_!' Harry stopped long enough to grab his wand and pull his trainers on his bare feet before Apparating to the Burrow.

Molly, Arthur, Ginny, Hermione, Jane, and Richard were enjoying a leisurely breakfast when Harry darted into the back door. He slid to a sudden stop, brain spinning madly. 'Gin? Can I talk to you? I, uh…' He cast about wildly for an excuse. 'I forgot where you put Hermione's ring,' he said, grateful once again he had no obvious "tells" when he was lying about something.

'Oh, for Merlin's sake,' Ginny grumbled, grabbing her muffin. 'It's in –'

'Not here!' Harry hissed, ignoring the looks of bewilderment on everyone else's face, as he took Ginny's hand and hauled her up to her old bedroom. He closed the door, and cast a _Muffliato _charm on the bedroom door. 'It's Ron,' he panted, his eyes going wide. 'He's gone!'

'Oh, stop it,' Ginny scoffed. 'Are you sure?'

'Yes! He's nowhere in our flat!'

'Are you sure he didn't do what you did the night before our wedding?'

'Yes… I didn't get to sleep until after midnight. I slept in Teddy's bed. I would have heard him leave.'

'Oh, hell…' Ginny ran her hands through her hair. 'Why do you think he did this?'

'I don't know.' Harry sank to the edge of Ginny's unmade bed. He flopped to his back with a groan. 'Have you seen his face the last few days? Like our fifth year when he first started playing Keeper?'

'You mean this one?' Ginny did a dead-on imitation of the pale, hollow-eyed look of fear Ron had worn before a game that year.

'Yes!'

'You don't think he skipped off and went to… Oh, I don't know… Thailand or something equally barmy.'

'No.' Harry stared broodingly at the ceiling. 'You know Ron, though. He's probably got some half-arsed idea that all of a sudden he's not good enough for her.' He wrapped his arms around Ginny, pulling her down to the bed. 'Where do you think he is?'

'Tree house, maybe,' Ginny suggested. 'That's where he went a lot when we were younger.'

'Maybe. It is kind of his and Hermione's "spot" anyway.'

'Flat over the shop, too.'

'Okay.' Harry sat up. 'I'll go check both of those places, and you…'

'Keep Hermione busy.' Ginny slid off the bed and pulled Harry to his feet. 'Let's go.'

Harry stopped Ginny before she could open the door. 'If he's not in either of those places, I'm going to get George.' When Ginny gave him an inquiring glance he added, 'George will get it. And if George finds him first, he'll be able to talk to Ron without embarrassing him, which is how Ron would feel if it were anyone else.' Ginny nodded in understanding, and the two of them went back downstairs.

'Everything all right, dear?' Molly was busily preparing for the dinner after the wedding.

'It's great, Molly.' Harry left the kitchen and pelted down the back garden and into the paddock to the tree house. He clambered up the ladder nailed to the trunk of the tree, his head popping through the trapdoor. 'Are you out of your bleeding mind?' he yelled when he saw Ron huddled in the corner. Ron didn't reply, just dropped his head on his drawn-up knees.

Harry pulled himself through the trapdoor, taking a good look at Ron. Ron wore his most despised maroon paisley pajamas. A very clear indication of his mental state. Ron only wore those if nothing else in the flat was clean, and Harry knew very well Hermione never let things come to that. Harry picked his way to the corner containing Ron's hunched body. 'Hey.' Harry laid a hand on Ron's shoulder. He could feel a fine tremor run through Ron's body. 'Ron, mate, what's wrong?'

'How did you know? About Ginny?'

'Oh.' Harry blinked and folded himself next to Ron. 'Do you remember when she and I started dating in school?' Ron nodded. 'She became just as much my best friend as you and Hermione. Remember when she slapped me?'

'Yeah.'

'She was the only person who would put my arse in a sling when I needed it.' Harry grinned at Ron. 'Not that that's a good basis for a marriage, but she was willing to call me out when no one else would. Still does.'

Ron snorted. 'You and Ginny don't fight.'

'Oh yes, we do,' Harry corrected him. 'Remember two months ago? When Ginny retired from playing? We had the kind of row you and Hermione had after the ball fourth year.' Harry rubbed his nose. 'Which is why I ended up spending the night in your spare bedroom.'

'Is it right? For Hermione and me to bicker like we do?' Ron's face creased in a worried frown.

Harry looked at Ron for a moment before he replied. 'Can you see yourself with another woman? Like you are with Hermione?'

Ron closed his eyes. He had only been with one other girl, and they hadn't talked much. He hadn't realized how much he had completely and utterly worshiped the ground Hermione walked on until he woke up in the hospital wing his sixth year with her name on his lips. And he and Hermione did talk. About everything. There were several things about which they agreed to disagree, but he knew it didn't mean she didn't love him. For a minute he tried, but he could not picture his life without her. But he could picture standing on the platform with her, sending their children off to school. 'No, I can't.'

'Believe me, mate, if Hermione had any illusions about you, the past twelve years would have gotten rid of any of them. She knows your dirty socks don't always make it into the hamper and you have this annoying habit of mucking up the laundry, but she's still here. I don't see her running for the hills screaming.' When Ron looked at Harry askance, Harry cuffed Ron on the back of the head. 'Hermione knows what she wants. She always has.' Harry pushed himself to his feet and hauled Ron to his. 'Come on. Let's go back to my flat and get some breakfast.' He eyed Ron's pajamas. 'And get you something else to wear. You must have been in a right state last night if you grabbed _those_.'

Ron looked down, the surprise evident on his face. 'Yeah, I was. Didn't even realize I'd grabbed these.' He started to turn, so he could Disapparate, but stopped. 'Don't tell Hermione about this.'

'My lips are sealed.'

Ron reached over and gave Harry one of those back-pounding hugs men seemed to inflict on each other in times of great emotion. 'Thanks.'

'Not a problem.' Harry paused, and a grin played on his mouth. 'I will have to tell her about the pajamas, you realize. Too good to pass up,' he added just before Ron disappeared. Harry grinned to himself and sent his Patronus to Ginny with a short message.

'Found it. See you at three.'

* * *

Hermione was sitting on Ginny's bed, waiting for Ginny to finish her shower. She'd known Harry far too long to be fooled by his performance earlier. While it _was_ true Harry didn't have distinctive "tells" like Ron did when he was lying about something, someone who had known Harry for years would be able to tell. Besides, she had seen Harry put the box with her wedding ring inside the pocket of his suit jacket last night.

Ginny came into the room, scowling. 'Wanker,' she muttered.

'I beg your pardon?' Hermione raised a censorious eyebrow.

'Not you. George. Snuck into the bathroom while I was taking a shower and poured ice water on my head. Bloody git.' Ginny rubbed her hair with a towel. 'George and Katie are here.'

'Oh, good.' Hermione twisted a lock of hair around a finger. 'Did Harry find Ron?'

'How did…?'

'Have you seen Ron? Looks like he did fifth year playing Quidditch.'

'Yeah.' Ginny turned around to face Hermione. 'He found him.'

'And?' Hermione, for all her outward self-assurance, felt a horde of butterflies stampede through her stomach.

Ginny smiled. 'He'll be the one out back trying not to puke on his shoes.'

* * *

Ron stood in front of the mirror in Harry and Ginny's bedroom, attempting to tie his tie. The silk slithered through his fingers and hopelessly knotted itself. 'Bloody hell,' he sighed, as he picked the knot apart and tried again.

'Here.' Harry turned Ron around, and carefully lined up the tie. He began to wind it into a half-Windsor. 'Your dad had to do mine when I married Gin,' Harry mused reflectively. 'I was so nervous, I couldn't get it right.'

'You never answered my question,' Ron stated. 'About how you knew it was Ginny.'

Harry thoughtfully regarded his handiwork as he settled the knot against Ron's throat, straightening it. 'It was right after she started playing for the Harpies. She spent the weekend at my flat, and we spent Sunday morning reading the paper in bed together. It was the most mundane thing in the world, but I realized I wanted to do that every day with her if I could.' Harry gave the tie one final tug. 'There.'

Ron gave Harry a relieved smile. 'Thanks, mate. For the tie and the other thing…'

'Hello?' Arthur's voice drifted into the bedroom. 'Boys?' He peered around the doorway. 'Not so much boys anymore, are you?' he asked, almost wistfully.

'Dad, what are you doing here? We'll be on time!' Ron protested.

'Photographs.' Arthur held up a camera. 'Let me get a few of you two.'

Ron slid the jacket on and stood next to Harry, both of them grinning like schoolboys. He checked his watch. 'One-and-a-half hours left as a single man.'

Harry snorted. 'You haven't been a single man since the day you laid eyes on Hermione.'

Arthur heaved a sigh. 'My boys. All grown up.' He took a few more snapshots and tucked the camera back into his pocket. He sniffed heavily and pulled his glasses off, using a handkerchief to polish the lenses. 'Still see the two of you as twelve-year olds at the breakfast table in the kitchen.'

Harry stepped forward, holding out his hand. 'Arthur, let me get a few of you with Ron.' He took the camera from Arthur and changed places with his father-in-law. Harry raised the camera as Arthur reached up to brush a strand of hair from Ron's forehead and pressed the shutter button.

* * *

'How much Sleekeazy's did you use?' Katie asked as she began to pin Hermione's hair into a loose cluster of curls on the back of her head.

'Just enough so I don't look like I was dragged backward through a hedgerow.' Hermione handed Katie a hairpin over her shoulder.

Jane peered at Hermione's bare feet. 'Um, Hermione what do you call that color on your toes exactly?'

'I'm Not Really a Waitress.'

Jane rolled her eyes exasperatedly. 'Yes, dear, I know. I'm still not sure what it is you do, but that doesn't answer the question about the color.'

'No, Mum, that's the name of the varnish.'

'But _red_?'

Hermione stretched out her foot and examined her toes. 'Why not? It's not like anyone's going to see it.' She pointed her toes. 'Except for Ron,' she added, the corner of her mouth turning up cheekily.

'I didn't even wear white at my wedding,' snorted Katie. She looked at Jane, who was sitting on the edge of Ginny's bed. 'George and I eloped in Bari. Got married on the beach. I wore red. The whole thing was in Italian…' Katie smiled dreamily as she tucked a row of daisies into Hermione's hair and carefully pinned them in place. 'How's that, then?' she asked, indicating Hermione's hair.

'It's perfect.'

'Ron's not going to know what hit him,' piped up Ginny from her perch on the windowsill, where she had been unobtrusively snapping photographs. 'Poor sod.'

Hermione threw Ginny a look. 'That's the plan.'

* * *

Richard knocked on the door, a bouquet of red roses from his garden clutched in one hand. 'Hermione? Are you ready?'

'Yeah.' Hermione opened the door.

Richard's breath caught in his throat. 'You look just like your mother,' he said hoarsely.

Hermione blinked as her eyes filled with tears. 'You're going to make me cry, Dad.'

'Can't have that, now.' Richard handed Hermione the bouquet. 'Ready?'

'For ages.' She took the flowers in one hand, and held up the hem of the dress, so she wouldn't trip going down the stairs. Richard stopped just inside the back door and offered his arm to Hermione. 'Just a second, Dad.' Hermione took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 'All right.' She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

Richard led her out the door and into the garden. Ron waited under an elm tree, his back to the house. Harry nudged Ron, who turned around to watch Hermione and Richard make their way to where Ron, Harry, Ginny, and the wizened Ministry wizard stood.

Ron's mouth fell open as he watched Hermione glide down the garden, roses in her hands, and daisies in her hair. He barely felt Harry nudge him sharply in the ribs. 'Hey, mate, close your mouth, eh?' Harry whispered in his ear. Ron's mouth snapped shut. He didn't want to look like a gormless berk on his wedding day, after all.

Ron took Hermione's hand from Richard, and twined his fingers around hers. She smiled at him, and everything else disappeared. He vaguely remembered repeating his vows – for all he knew, he was promising to dance starkers in the Ministry Atrium next Tuesday – and taking the small ring Harry handed him and sliding it onto Hermione's finger with a shaking hand. It was the kind of day he had promised her. Clear blue sky, with the afternoon sunshine gleaming on the leaves of the tree above them. Ron blinked when the wizard informed him he could kiss the bride. He gently cupped her face in his hands and bent to kiss her. He drew back, and saw the tears that had gathered in her eyes slip down her cheeks. Ron said nothing, but softly brushed them away with his thumbs, before his arms slid around her waist, and he kissed her again.

Hermione felt her father kiss her cheek, before leaving her with Ron, and taking his seat next to Jane. She could feel her voice tremble, but it wasn't nerves. It wasn't mere happiness that emanated from her. It was more than that. The corner of Hermione's mind that always remained detached from the events around her reflected on the vows she said to Ron. They had already been through it all – from the depths of hell to the heights of joy; deaths, births, injury, illness. And all before the age of nineteen. She could hear her voice crack from unshed tears and bit her lip, as she slid the slim gold band on Ron's finger. The wizard said a few more words that Hermione didn't hear. The next thing she knew, Ron's mouth lightly brushed over hers. Her eyes closed and the tears that had been threatening to fall slid down her cheeks. Ron delicately thumbed them away before he wrapped his arms around her waist.

He kissed her again, to the whoops of the rest of the family. Underneath the cheers and whistles, Ron rested his forehead against Hermione's. 'That bad you have to cry?' he teased.

'That good I have to cry,' she corrected, with a crooked grin.

* * *

Jane flipped through the collection of record albums Andromeda had brought for the dancing. _There it is_, she crowed gleefully to herself, and slid the album from its sleeve. Jane laid it carefully on the record player and switched it on. Hermione looked across the garden at her when the music drifted over the garden, and smiled as Ron took her in his arms and she rested her head against his shoulder.

­_So kiss me and smile for me/Tell me that you'll never leave/Hold me like you'll never let me go…_

* * *

A/N -- And that's the end... It's been such a pleasure to write this, that I'm sad to see it end. I wish it didn't have to end, but it's a good place for the two of them to start another chapter of their lives.

I'm Not Really a Waitress really is the name of a shade of nail polish.

Thanks to everybody who took the time to read this.


End file.
